


Sting of the Black Tarantula

by NickelModelTales



Category: Original Work
Genre: 1920s, Adventure, Bounty Hunters, Brainwashing, Dubious Consent, F/M, Hypnotism, Master/Slave, Mexico, Porn With Plot, Shameless Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-31
Updated: 2019-03-31
Packaged: 2019-12-30 01:51:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 7
Words: 24,021
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18305747
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NickelModelTales/pseuds/NickelModelTales
Summary: An erotic hypnosis adventure.  The Black Tarantula, the most dreaded bounty hunter in 1920's Mexico, decides to pursue a fugitive who may have devil-like powers.





	1. Bear Tuffens

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Packed](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Packed/gifts).



> A reader challenged me to write a story featuring a prisoner and captor...

**_The Town of Villa Corregidora, Mexico_ **

**_September, 1928_ **

Bear Tuffens grunted, eyeing the _Bebidas Regadas_ saloon with a wary eye.  In the setting sun, the little Mexican bar seemed innocent enough.

Still… you couldn’t be too careful.

Bear was a huge hulk of an Irish man.  In his prime, he must have been in his late twenties, tall and strapping, with thick muscles in his arms, chest, and legs.  A wide chin bristling with stubble and a pug nose (twice broken) were his two most distinctive features.  But anyone unfortunate to inspect Bear up close would also note his many knife scars, and the death’s head tattoos he had on the top of each finger.

The young man leaned back in his saddle and rubbed his chin, thinking.  Beneath him, his horse wheezed.  It had been a long, taxing ride.

After all, it was only two hours ago that Bear had been jumped by that big Mexican fellow in the black coat.  Jeepers, that fellow had been a mean one.  Tall, eyes blazing, with military boots and a cruel-looking knife strapped to his thigh, the man had surprised Bear just outside of _San Miguel_.  Luckily Bear had drawn his gun first.

In those few seconds, desperate shots had been fired.  The stranger’s shotgun blast had gone wide.  But Bear had plugged two bullets into the other man’s shoulder.  The fellow had yelled out in agony as he toppled from his horse, and then Bear had scrambled up into the saddle.  Bear pointed the stead towards the southern road and broke into a full gallop.  The horse charged over the Mexican in the escape.

That Mexican fellow…  he was a bounty hunter.  And judging from the array of ghastly weapons, restraints, and wanted posters in the man’s saddlebags, he wasn’t just any bounty hunter.  He was a hardened professional.  Probably the **_Black Tarantula_** himself.  Bear grimaced.

The Irishman knew that back in New York, Don Maranzano had been positively livid at Bear’s betrayal.  Obviously the price on Bear’s head was considerable.  Men like the Black Tarantula would just keep coming.  Hell, assuming the Tarantula himself survived their last encounter, he was probably just five miles behind.

On the other hand, Bear’s stolen horse was gasping and trembling.  The poor beast wouldn’t survive another ride into the desert, certainly not without rest and water first.  And Bear was famished.  Besides, even if the Tarantula survived, how would he track the Irishman to tiny little _Villa Corregidora_ , barely a dot on the map?

The Irishman spat into the dirt, making his decision.  He’d grab a meal here, inquire about the local whorehouse, then slit a throat or two in the night to cover his expenses.  By sunup, he’d be long gone.

*****

The saloon looked even more unimpressive from the inside.  The floors were dirt, and no two pieces of the old furniture matched.  The bar was made from dark wood, little more than a few crates with a few long, polished planks laid across the top.  On the dusty shelves behind, there were a dozen yellow-stained bottles of tequila, the labels too faded to read properly.

Bear sat at the bar.  He demanded a bottle and some meat, which the skinny bartender scrambled to supply.  There were only five other customers in the joint, all suddenly interested in the bottom of their glasses when Bear’s glare fell on them.  Not one man here was a fighter, the Irishman thought contemptuously.  But one or two of these fellows could easily be relieved from their wallets.

The bartender arrived with beef and bread.  The meat was spicy and tough to chew, but Bear wolfed it down nonetheless.

As the big man was gorging himself, the saloon doors swung open.  Bear tensed, ready to snatch up his revolver.

But two young women entered, each dressed in city clothes, splattered with road dust.  The taller girl hurried to the bar, waving for the bartender.  “Excuse me, _señor_ ,” she said, her Spanish accent terrible.  “Can you tell me, where is the nearest train station?  _Estación de… de… de Tren?_   You know, choo-choo?”

The bartender looked annoyed, shaking his head.  “ _Mujer estúpida,_ ” he grumbled.  “ _No soy guia._ ”

The taller woman huffed, looking vexed.  “This is all **_your fault_** , you know,” she accused her younger companion.

Bear wiped his mouth on the back of his arm, inspecting both women with interest.  The taller one was very pretty, probably mid-twenties, with a trim figure and slender neck.  Her bobbed brown hair peaked out from under a beige Cloche hat, perfectly matching her skirt, tailored jacket, and Oxford shoes.  Twin pearl strands circled her lovely throat.  She was a woman of some means, who knew how to look stylish.  In her gloved hands, she clutched a large but thin purse.

Her younger companion was even more beautiful.  A curly blonde wearing a Gatsby hat, and a flapper’s evening dress and T-strap shoes, this girl was perhaps nineteen.  Bright blue eyes sparkled in her lovely face, highlighting her rosy cheeks and round lips.  A touch of endearing baby fat made her seem innocent yet sexy at the same time.

Bear shifted on his stool.  The younger blonde was standing between him and the windows, allowing the setting sun to bathe her figure in soft, golden light.  The girl had a luscious body, fully-endowed and trim.  It had been a long time since Bear had been with a woman like that.

As the Irishman stared, the blonde glanced in his direction.  Their eyes connected.  The young girl held his gaze, but lowered her face slightly.  A faint smile played at the corners of her lips.

Bear grinned.  Did this little chickee enjoy the look of him?  Well, he could show her a good time, no problem.

Meanwhile, the tall brunette rubbed her forehead, looking anxious.  She cast her worried eyes about, finally inspecting Bear.

“Mister,” she said, hurrying to the Irishman’s side, “you’re American, aren’t you?  You speak English?”

“Sure,” smirked Bear.

“Oh, thank Goodness,” the brunette exclaimed, laying a grateful hand on Bear’s meaty forearm.  “Sir, thank the Lord Almighty that you are here.  You must help my sister and me.  Our coach driver, he’s run off, and he has all our luggage!  I don’t know where we are, and…”  Her shoulders sagged.  “…and I don’t know what to do.”

“Where you ladies from?” Bear asked, eyeing her pearls.

“We’re from Los Angeles, sir,” replied Brunette.  “Forgive me, I didn’t give proper introductions.  I’m Elizabeth Bellstone, my father is Emmett Bellstone.  You’ve heard of him, perhaps?  The banker?  Father’s conducting business in _San Luis_ , and my sister and I, we…”

The woman paused, obviously flustered.  “Well,” she mumbled, composing herself, “we seem to have been led astray.  Oh, this is my sister Amelia.  Amelia?”

She gestured for the blonde to approach.

Bear took the opportunity to admire Amelia as the beautiful teenager stepped forward.  Her golden curls bounced playfully on her narrow shoulders.

“We need to get back to San Luis, sir,” Elizabeth implored.  “Could you guide us there?”  She hesitated.  “We can pay you for your trouble, of course.”

Bear wiped his greasy fingers on his jean trousers.  “I ain’t cheap,” he said causally.  “ _San Luis_ , that’s a-ways off.”

 _San Luis_ was also to the north, towards the Texan border.  And towards Don Maranzanos’ bounty hunters.  Bear had no intention of heading that direction, not for any amount of money.

“Perhaps… there’s another American gentleman in this town who could help us?” Elizabeth said hopefully.

Bear snorted.  “This ain’t a civilized part of the world, ma’am.  Down here, they got bandits, cutthroats, rifle gangs, worse.”  Laying the drama on thick, the Irishman leaned in closer.  “You ladies ever heard of… the **_Black Tarantula?_**   _La Tarántula Negra?_ ”

Immediately, the other customers muttered to one another in alarm.  Two men crossed themselves.

“Sounds ghastly,” Elizabeth admitted, looking pale.

“Oh,” Bear smirked.  “Well, I happen to know that the Tarantula was just seen outside of _San Miquel_.  If half the rumors I’ve heard are true, that man would shoot you on sight for the dollars in your purse, ma’am.  The longer you’re here in Mexico without protection, well…”  Bear shrugged.

Elizabeth let out a shaky breath.

“We should hire this man,” Amelia told her sister, stepping closer to Bear.  “We don’t have a lot of choices.”

“Amelia…” her sister moaned, rubbing her forehead.

“We can pay him the rest of the hotel money,” Amelia suggested.  “There’s still gotta be at least two hundred-“

“ ** _Amelia Bellstone!_** ” hissed Elizabeth.  “Be quiet, **_please!_** ”

“I’ll tell you gals what,” Bear said lazily, reaching for his tequila.  “You rent a room here for the night.  I’ll sleep on the floor.  In the morning, I’ll take you to _San Luis_.  For one hundred.  Plus meals.  Fair, eh?”

“That sounds fair,” Amelia eagerly agreed.

“Shush, girl!” growled Elizabeth.  She turned to Bear, straightening.  “Fifty, sir.  No more.  We still have expenses, and-“

“ ** _One hundred_** ,” retorted Bear.  “Your expenses ain’t my problem.  Or shall we make it the full two?”

“One hundred it is,” agreed Elizabeth quietly, slipping a sullen look at her sister.

*****

Once Bear made it clear that it would be quite painful to refuse, the saloonkeeper rented his private bedroom to Amelia and Elizabeth for the night.  The three Americans retired early, with Bear taking care to survey the saloon’s remaining customers and then the street before they locked the door.  _Villa Corregidora_ was a small but thriving town; he still wasn’t convinced that he’d escaped the eye of Don Maranzano.

Amelia took an acute interest in the Irish fellow.  She watched him with fascination, asking questions about his finger tattoos, the scar under his chin, even the make of his gun.  While Elizabeth glowered in disapproval, Bear found himself talking freely, then bragging a little about his exploits.  But he was careful to keep the grisly details vague.

“Oh, I used to do a little muscle work,” he offered, as he folded up the blanket which was to be his mattress for the night.

“My land,” Amelia marveled, enraptured.  “Muscle work?  What is that…?”

“Amelia, you aren’t concerned with such things,” Elizabeth interrupted harshly.

Bear shrugged.

Elizabeth pursed her lips together, lifting the curtain to peer out the window.  “Do you think we will be able to buy horses in the morning?” she asked nervously.

Bear saw an opportunity.

“Hard to say,” he rumbled, pretending to be thinking hard about that question.  “In the morning, most horses are rented to the laborers and the farmers.  We might not get any.  You ladies mind walking in the desert?”

“Oh dear,” Elizabeth fretted, biting her lip.  “Do you think we should procure some now?”

“Couldn’t hurt,” Bear said, stretching out on his blanket.

The brunette sister wrung her hands, thinking furiously.  “I think I’ll make a few inquiries,” she announced to no-one in particular.  “You two wait here, mind?”  To Amelia, she warned, “you stay on that bed, young lady.  Understand?”

“Yes,” Amelia agreed, sullenly.

Elizabeth gave Bear a sharp glance.  She unlocked the door, then slipped into the hallway outside.

Bear put his hands behind his head, grinning.  _Foolish woman,_ he thought contemptuously.  There were no horses for sale in _Villa Corregidora_.  Elizabeth would waste an hour, easy, trying to find some.

In the meantime, the huge Irishman had little Amelia all to himself.  He had already decided he would rape the blonde first, then slit her throat.  Then when Elizabeth returned, well, she’d get the same treatment.  By morning, when the two women’s bodies were discovered, Bear would be long gone.

Amelia lay on the big brass bed, peering down at Bear with delight and fascination.  She glanced at the door, as if confirming that they were alone.  “Hey mister,” she whispered.

Bear met her gaze, pleased with Amelia’s interest.  The girl seemed positively awestruck.

“You’re an **_outlaw_** , aren’t you?” she half-whispered.

Bear’s smile faded.  “Why you say that?” he rumbled.

Amelia grinned, her expression impish.  “I knew it!” she murmured.  “You’ve probably robbed banks, huh?”

The girl was genuinely thrilled.  Surprised, Bear rolled onto his side.

“You’ve probably got the Mexican police after you, right, mister?” Amelia coaxed.  “Com’on, you can tell me.”

“I ain’t done nothin’,” Bear insisted.

Amelia smirked.  “I getcha,” she said, winking.  “You don’t want to brag, is that it?  Sure thing.”

The blonde girl sighed, rolled onto her back, and gazed forlornly at the ceiling.  Without her hat, those golden curls tumbled across her pillow.

“If I were a man,” pouted Amelia, “I’d be an outlaw too.”  She extended her arms, pointing her index fingers to make her fists into pretend revolvers.  “I’d shoot up every bank south of the Rio Grande, then ride off into the sunset, laughing all the way.”

Bear stared, fascinated.  “Why you’d want to do that?” he asked.

“Why?” Amelia glowered.  “Outlaws do whatever they want.  All I do is attend boarding schools, etiquette classes, piano lessons.  I’m only here in Mexico because Father thinks I might be wed to a business associate.”  She squinted one eye, pretending to fire her pretend revolver.  “What kind of life is that?”

Bear was amazed.  For such a ladylike young woman, Amelia was remarkably rebellious… and a fool, to boot.  Why, if he played his cards right, she might go to bed with him **_willingly_**.  The thought of a sex partner who wanted to be fucked excited the Irishman.

“I’ve robbed banks,” he said coolly.

Immediately, Amelia’s eyes opened wide.  “I knew it!” she exclaimed, scrambling to sit upright.  “Tell me everything!”

Bear grinned lazily.  “You sure, girlie?  My stories ain’t for the squeamish.”

The blonde girl raised her head in pride.  “I can handle it,” she said haughtily.  “Tell me.  I want to hear.”

“Well,” Bear drawled, pretending to wrestle with a conscience.  “All right.  But don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

The huge Irishman began weaving an action-packed story of his life in crime.  He regaled Amelia with tales of shooting up Mexican banks, blasting open their vaults, and then helping himself to whatever he liked.  None of it was true, of course, but Bear enjoyed how Amelia hung on his every word.  The more violent and daring his stories, the more her eyes glowed in wonder.

“My word,” the blonde teenager murmured, her chest heaving slightly.

She paused.  A naughty expression settled on her face.

“Why don’t you sit up here with me?” she purred, patting the mattress beside her.

Bear grinned.  This was becoming easier than he thought.

With a lumbering motion, the huge Irishman climbed onto the bed, enjoying the loud creaking sound the springs made as he settled down next to Amelia.

“Here,” the girl said, moving to tuck the pillow behind Bear.  “Sit back.  Tell me more.”

Bear reclined against the bed’s footboard, enjoying how those yellow curls bounced off Amelia’s petite little shoulders.  He was going to enjoy pulling them during intercourse, when the time came.

“Tell me more,” urged the teenager again.  She leaned closer, and grasped both of Bear wrists gently.

“Heh,” mugged the fugitive.  The girl’s beauty was infectious.  He hoped he could keep lying in a convincing manner.  “Well, I’ve also shot a few-“

**_Owww!!!_ **

**_There was a DEEP, BITING PAIN in his shoulder!!!_ **

Bear roared, instinctively straightening his back.

Instantly, Amelia’s little hands clamped onto his wrists.  With all her upper body strength, the teenager pushed Bear’s arms up into his chest, pinning him against the footboard.  Her face was now a mask of determination and anger.  She clamped her teeth together as she exerted every muscle she had.

But Bear was twisting around, trying to see who was behind him.

There, not a foot away, was Elizabeth.  In her gloved hand, she held the tiniest of knives, the blade perhaps a mere half-inch long.  It shone dark red with fresh blood.  His blood!

Too late, Bear realized what had happened.  While he’d been distracted and regaling Amelia, Elizabeth had stolen back into the room, careful not to make a sound.  The knife had been in her purse all the time; she’d simply waited until he was off-guard to stab him.

“ ** _Help me hold him!_** ” grunted Amelia at her sister.

Elizabeth sprang forward, tightly wrapping one arm under Bear’s chin.  Her muscles tensed, and in horror, the Irishman realized how strong both of his attackers were.  He gagged for breath.

Elizabeth’s free hand appeared before Bear, still wielding that dripping knife.  The tiny blade darted forward, now sinking into the broad muscles of his chest.

Bear bellowed like his namesake, summoning a strength greater than what the two women possessed.  Amelia went flying into the wall as his arms threw her away.  In seconds, he was grappling for Elizabeth.

But the brunette hung on, stabbing his arms a few more times before she released him and backed away.

“You stupid bitches,” Bear thundered, getting on his feet.  His legs were shaky, no doubt from rage.  “ ** _You stupid bitches!_** ”

He lunged at Elizabeth, who easily danced away.

“That’s it, Bear,” the brunette taunted.  “Get that heart pumping.”

Elizabeth was no longer the prim and fretful young woman that she’d been only ten minutes earlier.  Now her face and eyes were cold.  Her body tensed like a cobra’s.

Bear swallowed.  “You know my name?” he said stupidly.

“You were painfully easy to track, Bear Tuffens,” Elizabeth said coldly.  “You really shouldn’t have drifted through _San Miguel_.”

Bear’s fingers twitched.  His legs and arms were cramping.

“I’ll kill you,” the big man promised, his eyes wild.  “I’ll kill you **_so slow_** , with your own knife.  Yeah, I hope you-“

His jaw spasmed.  To his surprise, Bear’s left arm and leg were stiffening.  He tumbled to the floor, banging his head against the brass bedframe on the way down.

Elizabeth and Amelia closed in on him, each in an expert fighting stance.  Their eyes were narrowed and angry.

Bear tried to spit out another insult, but he couldn’t move his lips.  His jaw clenched, outside of his control.

Elizabeth visibly relaxed.  “You’re done, Bear,” she said flatly.  “You know why Amelia and I are called the Black Tarantula?”  She held up the little knife.  “Tarantula venom on the blade.  **_Highly_** concentrated, of course.  You’re in for a long, painful sleep, my dear.”

Bear’s eyes went wide with horror.  He let loose a bellow of despair and pleading.  His right arm, not quite paralyzed yet, feebly clawed for the door.

“Oh, give it up, chump,” Amelia sneered.  The flirty, rebellious teenager was gone; now the girl was a hardened mercenary, her steely gaze filled with contempt.

She lifted the heavy brass spittoon in both hands.  “You’ll be singing to Don Maranzano soon enough,” she promised Bear.

Then she brought the brass globe down onto his head, **_hard_**.  And Bear knew no more.

*****


	2. Jacob Harcourt

**_The City of Guadalajara, Mexico_ **

**_One Month Later…_ **

Nestled among the city of _Guadalajara’s_ southern districts, the dusty neighborhood of _Echeverría_ was known for tree-lined avenues, quiet markets, and lively mariachi music in the evenings.  Children commonly played in the unpaved streets here, chasing chickens or inventing new games with whatever materials they could find.  Laundry always hung from an advanced system of clotheslines that only the housewives understood.

Off _Pablo Moreno_ , a modest little boulevard, was an unassuming restaurant, catering to the local factory workers and their families.  The restaurant had no formal name, no wait staff, not even a set of matching utensils.  Here, customers simply wandered in, described what they desired to Mama Flores (the only cook), and then ate in relative peace and quiet.

Elizabeth and Amelia had a certain fondness for this place.  Here, they could eat at a private table in the back, and no-one would stare at their pale faces or bright hair.  Mama Flores knew enough to leave them alone.

The two women were not sisters, of course.  Elizabeth had been born up in Philadelphia, running with a street gang soon after her parents died.  When she was fifteen, a traveling carnival came to town and Elizabeth had the bad judgement to try and pick the pocket of the show’s stage magician, a slimy fellow named Hank Pulaski.  She was caught in the act.

But rather than drag her to the police, Pulaski lusted for Elizabeth’s natural beauty and developing body.  He enslaved her, chaining her in his wagon, and then using diabolical means, forced her to participate in his shows as the lovely woman assistant.  Elizabeth spend two years touring the United States as his prisoner, learning about the dark side of humanity the hard way.

And then, just when she’d despaired of ever knowing freedom again, Elizabeth was saved.  By a bounty hunter.  It turned out that the carnival’s ringmaster was a hopeless gambler, in debt far beyond his means.  When the hunter arrived to claim the ringmaster’s sculp, Pulaski wound up in the middle of the scuffle, and got the fear of God thrown into him.  Elizabeth escaped that night, never looking back.

The bounty hunter was known as the Black Tarantula.  In those days, his fearsome legend was just beginning to take root among the criminal underworld.

The Tarantula was kind enough to take Elizabeth under his wing, and within a year, she was eagerly hunting with him as his apprentice.  The pretty young woman had a knack for spotting the prey, for sliding up to them, and distracting them, before her brutal partner pounced for the capture.  This was the Diversion Pincher, the bounty hunter’s most effective ploy.  When Elizabeth was the bait, the Tarantula sprang the trap.

But a year after their adventures began, the Tarantula’s career was unexpectedly cut short.  Poor Elizabeth found herself operating alone.  She took up the mantle of the Black Tarantula for herself, but it was impossible to execute a Diversion Pincher alone.  She needed a partner.

It was by pure luck that Elizabeth happened across a scrappy thirteen-year-old American orphan in the Mexico City slums.  Amelia had been hotheaded even then; Elizabeth first clapped eyes on the scrappy little whelp when she was in a fight against three boys, all a head taller than she.  Amelia won.

While their partnership was always somewhat rocky, Elizabeth and Amelia managed to thrive as the new Black Tarantula.  It was Amelia who thought up the idea of using actual tarantula venom to paralyze their marks, a touch which ensured swift captures.  And made the Tarantula sound terrifying to the criminal underworld.

Now dressed in leather riding clothes, both women lounged behind their table, impatiently waiting.  No longer playing a role for a job, they were free to let down their hair and be themselves.  The handful of other customers in the dining room ignored them.

Amelia was in an especially rotten mood, was chewing on a toothpick and absently chipping at the table with her Bowie knife.

“Hey,” snapped Elizabeth.  “Stop that.”

Amelia flashed an annoyed glance at her beautiful partner.  “Why isn’t he here yet?” she demanded.  “You know I hate sitting about.”

“ ** _Don’t carve up the furniture,_** ” ordered Elizabeth sternly.  “Mama Flores won’t seat us again if you-“

“Fine, fine,” scoffed Amelia, and haughtily sheathed her blade.  But in defiance, she lifted one muddy boot and rested it on the table.

Elizabeth glared, but said nothing.  Lately, Amelia had been chafing more and more.  The younger girl was arrogant and disrespectful to the point of insubordination.  Capturing Bear Tuffens had been an ordeal, if only because Amelia bitterly argued with every tactical decision Elizabeth made.

The brunette folded her arms, raising her own head high.  Perhaps the Black Tarantula had seen its day.  Perhaps Amelia would be happier on her own.  Elizabeth could always find another junior partner.  There were plenty of other scrappy orphan girls in Mexico City.

The restaurant’s front doors parted, and a mountain of a man lurched inside.  This fellow was well over six feet tall, clad in a long black leather coat with a wide-brimmed Gambler’s hat.  His crinkled face was leathery and worn, displaying a deep, ugly scar that slashed from his temple, underneath an eyepatch, and then down across his cheek.  The man carried a bulging saddlebag over one shoulder, and leaned heavily on a crutch as he tromped across Mama Flores’ dirty floor.

With a glare about the dining room, the stranger snatched the dented spittoon from the corner, then heaved his way up to Elizabeth and Amelia’s table.  He pulled out a chair, eased into it (with difficulty), then spat a slimy gob of chewing tobacco into the spittoon.

“Ladies,” the man grunted in way of greeting.  His voice was low, and harsh as gravel.

Elizabeth nodded.  “Jacob,” she returned neatly.

Jacob Harcourt scanned about, lowering the spittoon to the floor.  Mama Flores appeared at the kitchen entrance, and merely exchanged nods with the black-clad man.  She already knew what he wanted to eat.

Harcourt flicked a quizzical squint over Amelia as he unslung his saddle bag.  “You carvin’ up the furniture again?” he rumbled.

“No,” Amelia lied, her voice tart.  But she quickly removed her boot from the table.

The dark man scowled, but said nothing further.  He removed yellowed papers from his satchel, sorting them into various piles.

Once, long ago, Harcourt had been a bounty hunter himself, getting his start in the Old West.  A painful run-in with two Chinese murderers had gone south, and now Harcourt was out of The Business.  Now he scratched together a living by serving as a “contract man,” the liaison between the criminal underworld world and the bounty hunters.  When a price was put on someone’s head, Harcourt learned of it.  When that someone was captured, it was Harcourt who arranged for the pickup (assuming the bounty required a live captive), and transfer of payment.  He knew everyone, but no-one knew his contacts.  It was dangerous work.  But Harcourt survived it well.

“You two, you did a nice job with Bear Tuffens,” the old contract man intoned.  “The client was pleased.”  He pushed a sealed envelope across the table to Elizabeth.  “There’s a small bonus inside.”

Elizabeth nodded, ignoring Amelia’s greedy look.  She tucked the envelope away in her purse.

“Now then,” Harcourt said, squinting down at his papers, “I assume you ladies are looking for more work?”

“Always,” Elizabeth said.

“Hmmgh,” was Harcourt’s reply.  “There ain’t much at the moment, I’m afraid.”  He plucked a telegram from the piles, and handed it over to Elizabeth.  Amelia craned her neck to look.  It read:

**_ANTONIO COLLAZO AGE 37 MEXICAN CRIME AUTOMOBILE ROBBERY EL PASO 200 P ISSUED 5 SEPT 1928 STOP_ **

“Only two hundred pesos?” frowned Elizabeth.  “It might take twice that to track him down.”

“Fair enough,” Harcourt said mildly, yanking the telegram back and offering another.  “How ‘bout this?”

**_JAVIER MOYANO AGE 22 AMERICAN CRIME RAPE TUCSON 50 P ISSUED 26 SEPT 1928 STOP_ **

“Fifty?” complained Amelia.  “For a **_rapist?_**   That’s peanuts.”

“I believe that one was caught fornicating with Cheech Rubalcaba’s daughter,” commented Harcourt.  “Not sure the contract is serious, to be honest.  Mr. Rubalcaba likes to scare people.”

With a disgusted snort, Amelia pushed the Moyano telegram back across the table.

The old contract man didn’t have much more to offer.  The highest bounty posted was for a horse thief; three hundred and fifty pesos.

“But this one was issued back in May,” observed Elizabeth, her disapproval barely concealed.  “This fellow probably made it to Guatemala by now, no?”

Harcourt nodded, leaning over to deposit into the spittoon again.  “Business is very good back in America, you know,” he allowed.  “People are finding work.  Even the hardened criminals are raking in money.  There’s less revenge to go around.”

Elizabeth sighed, running through expenses in her head.  Every bounty required an initial investment.  It cost money just to find the target, sometimes a good deal of money.  Then, because Elizabeth and Amelia preferred to use deception and stealth when approaching their mark, there was an additional cost of acquiring the suitable costumes, equipment, and perhaps even weapons.  Final transfer of the prisoner was also expensive.  It had cost sixty-three pesos and twenty-seven centavos to capture Bear Tuffens, all for a five hundred peso payday.  Profit always had to be estimated before accepting any job.

“Hey,” Amelia said suddenly.  “What’s that one?”

She’d spotted one last telegram, this one with black ink traced around the edges.  Before Harcourt could react, the teenager snatched the little piece of paper.  Elizabeth leaned over to read it.

**_KALLAN AGE 41 EUROPEAN CRIME UNKNOWN NEW YORK CITY 50000 P ISSUED 20 AUGUST 1928 STOP_ **

Amelia’s eyes grew wide.  “Fifty… **_thousand?_** ” she exclaimed.

For once, Harcourt seemed pained.  “Oh,” he grumbled.  “That one.”  His scar twitched.

“What gives, Jacob?” Elizabeth asked, rereading the telegram again.  “You’ve never held back on offering us a job before.”

Harcourt spat another wad of tobacco.  He seemed to be weighing his next words carefully.

“I don’t think you want anything to do with that one,” he finally rumbled, reaching to take back the black-marked telegram.

Amelia yanked it out of reach.  “Oh really?” she said tartly.  “Why’s that, Old Man?”

Elizabeth sent her a shocked expression, but Harcourt disregarded the insult.  He pointed at the telegram.  “That one,” he said plainly, “is cursed.”

“ ** _Cursed?_** ” Elizabeth and Amelia said in near-unison.

“Sure as I’m sittin’ here,” Harcourt affirmed, then spat again.

Elizabeth frowned, prying the telegram out of Amelia’s fingers.  In all the years she’d known the old contract man, Harcourt had never shied her away from a bounty.  “Where’d this one come from?” she asked, inspecting the little paper again.

Harcourt wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.  “Ain’t sure,” he admitted.  “The offer was passed on by Blake Sanders, out of Boston.  But Blake don’t know where it came from, neither.  Another contact passed it along to him.”

“There must be some rumors,” coaxed Elizabeth.

Harcourt shifted in his chair.  “You ladies remember Hitch McCullen?”

Elizabeth nodded.  Hitch was another contract man, a snooty businessman-type fellow.  Overly fond of ridiculous things like caveats and scented handkerchiefs and bowler hats.  The Black Tarantula had done a few captures for Hitch, although the woman-hating pig always shortchanged on the final payments.

“Well, Hitch got to this job first,” continued Harcourt, glancing about the restaurant.  “He sent Bandoleer Tex and then One-Eye Rodrìguez after this Kallan.  Word is, the boys caught up with him, too.  Somewhere outside _Coahuila_.”

“Okay,” Elizabeth said.  “So?”

Harcourt looked at her, his expression hard.  “Well, next thing anyone knows, Bandoleer is **_dead_**.  And then, just five days later, Hitch is dead, too.”

“Hitch is dead?” Amelia exclaimed.

“Stone cold dead,” confirmed Harcourt, thumping two thick fingers on the table for emphasis.  “ ** _Shot by One-Eye._**  Right in broad daylight, right outside the _Bosque de Chapultepec_.  In front of the tourists and shopkeepers.  Sure as I’m sitting here now.”

Elizabeth was stunned.  She’d never heard of a contract man getting bumped.  Contract men were supposed to be invisible facilitators!  Killing them was vindictive.

“Damn,” muttered Amelia.  “So… One-Eye must have been bought off, then?”

“Doesn’t sound like One-Eye,” mused Elizabeth.  “That man once-“

“Oh, One-Eye’s dead too,” the contract man interrupted.  “He shot himself in the head, right after shooting Hitch.  They’re all dead: Bandoleer, One-Eye, Hitch.  All dead.”

Elizabeth and Amelia’s mouths dropped open.

“After that,” Harcourt continued, “the bounty went up.  Then went up again.  But here’s the thing… every one of the hunters who went to collect, they wound up dead.  And…”  The old man leaned forward.  “…the contract men who sent them.  All dead.”

Elizabeth opened her mouth, but somehow no words sprang from her lips.

Mama Flores arrived with a steaming plate of _enchiladas potosinas_ and a beer, which she set before Harcourt.  She departed without even a curious glance over the scattered papers.

“So I hope you don’t mind me sayin’,” Harcourt rumbled, spitting out the rest of his tobacco, “but I’d rather not get killed this year.”

Amelia was chewing on her lip.  “You don’t actually think this Kallan is cursed… do you, Old Man?”

The contract man cast a wary eye at her.  “You been in this business as long as me, girlie, you learn to accept some things on faith,” he said, picking up his knife and fork.  The fork he pointed in Amelia’s direction.  “So yeah, I think the devil’s walking with this one.  You leave him alone, you get me?”

“We get you, Jacob,” Elizabeth said quickly.

“Good,” Harcourt harrumphed, and began sawing into his _enchiladas_.  “Kallan can waltz through all of damn Mexico for all I care.  Ain’t no bounty in the world is worth it if you wind up dead.”

*****

The next month was a lean one.  Elizabeth and Amelia tracked down Antonio Collazo and then Javier Moyano without too much trouble, the former discovered stinking drunk in an Irapuato bar.  Harcourt rustled up a few more jobs… but work was becoming scare.

“Why are we wasting our time in Mexico?” grumbled Amelia.  “Bounties up north of the border are more than four times the going rates here.”

Elizabeth repressed an annoyed sigh.  “I keep telling you,” she retorted.  “You don’t want to tangle with US Marshalls.  I know what I’m talking about.”

“You mean you’re too yellow to face ‘em,” Amelia muttered under her breath.

Elizabeth pretended not to have heard… but she had to grind her teeth to do so.

*****

Every bounty hunter needs a network of informants.  Bartenders, bellhops, shoe-shiners, taxi drivers, waiters, cleaning women, even the occasional crooked cop could produce the tip which led to the ultimate quarry.

Elizabeth and Amelia preferred street urchins.  After all, they worked for cheap, Amelia had a natural empathy with them, and they were incredibly cunning.  Every time the two women rode into a city, their first stop was always to the grubby back alleys where their little spies liked to dwell.  A few coins would buy a wealth of information.

One cold January afternoon, the two women arrived in Mexico City on horseback, immediately heading for the slums of _Ixtapaluca_.  Here, they made sure to display their weapons and wear angry red bandannas, colors which signaled a willingness to kill if attacked.  Plenty of impoverished locals eyed them with resentment.  But no-one offered a challenge.

Off the _Jacanandas_ Boulevard, Amelia found a squad a little street orphans, who ran to her gleefully when she whistled.  “ _Señorita Araña!_ ” they cried, extending dirty hands.  “ _Señorita Araña!_ ”

“Let’s make this quick,” Elizabeth warned her partner.  She remained on her horse, keeping a sharp eye in all directions.  One hand rested on her holstered pistol.

Amelia dismounted, handing out peppermint sticks, and gently prodding her charges for information.  It was amazing how intuitive these children were.  Often, they could spot a fugitive by noticing the clues most adults would gloss over: scuffed pants, bloodied hands, a panicked look in the eye, jumpy reflexes.  The Black Tarantula had nabbed several bounties, thanks to these keen little eyes.

Today, the news was slight.  Yet Amelia patiently listened to every report, handing out more candy or even a peso or two.  There were some promising leads.

“Com’on,” Elizabeth growled after fifteen minutes.  The longer the two women lingered, the more danger they were likely to attract.  Amelia scowled, but didn’t argue.

But as she moved to mount her horse, a tiny five-year-old girl reached out and grabbed Amelia’s riding trousers by the leg.  “I have a person for you, _señorita,_ ” the girl said in a soft voice.

Amelia paused, offering a motherly smile.  “Who, Rosa?” she cooed.

“ _Señor_ Kallan,” the girl said.  “He is here.  In the city.”

Both Elizabeth and Amelia froze.  Moving slowly, Amelia removed her boot from her stirrup and knelt before little Rosa.

“Tell me everything, darling,” she said firmly, holding up a five peso note.

*****

It seemed the mysterious Kallan had arrived in Mexico City not five days earlier.  He’d checked into the _Gran Hotel_ , and then spent much time shopping in the _Bosques de las Lomas_ district.  Rosa the urchin girl had also noted that he liked the gambling dens, and had a taste for young women.  He spent most the daytimes sleeping.

Elizabeth mulled over this information as she and Amelia rode to safer neighborhoods.  If Rosa had spotted their man… a **_very_** big if…  then Kallan was acting like a bored playboy.  Very odd behavior for the most wanted fugitive in Mexico.  This whole setup felt wrong.

Elizabeth fixed her partner with an annoyed stare.

“What?” retorted Amelia.

“You told the orphans to watch for Kallan?” Elizabeth snapped.  “And you didn’t let me know?”

Amelia tossed her head, an arrogant gesture.  “You’re not my boss.”

“You should have told me,” argued the older woman.  “How am I supposed to trust you-“

“ ** _Spare_** me,” Amelia said haughtily.

The two women rode in chilled silence, turning onto _El Rodeo_.  It was becoming evening, and shops were closing for the night.  Lamplighters were attending to the old-fashioned street lanterns.

“So,” Elizabeth said, careful to sound disinterested, “you’ll be looking into Kallan, then?”

“Seems like a timely opportunity,” returned her blonde partner.  She looked squarely at Elizabeth.  “Don’t tell me all that mumbo-jumbo Old Man Harcourt fed us has got you worried?”

Elizabeth set her jaw.

“Harcourt’s got a good head for business, but he should know better than to fall for this **_curse_** business,” Amelia declared scornfully.  She snorted.  “There’s no curse.  Just fools and wild rumors at work, that’s all.  Harcourt will be singing a different tune once we turn over Kallan in chains.”

“Probably,” agreed Elizabeth.

“Yeah,” Amelia insisted.  She peered closely at her partner.  “So you’re with me on this?”

Elizabeth didn’t like this assertive side to Amelia.  Wasn’t she supposed to be the leader?

“Let’s just take a look,” she allowed stiffly.  “I want to see this Kallan for myself first.”

*****

 _Zócalo_ square was a magnificent sprawling plaza, decorated with carefully-pruned hedges and crystal-blue fountains.  Tourists and government officials wandered about in light conversation, and admiring the world-renown architecture.

On the west side of the square was the splendid _Gran Hotel_ , a jewel of the metropolis.  Here, the wealthiest of businessmen stayed, seeking greater fortunes or luxurious entertainment.  To merely enter the lobby, Elizabeth and Amelia had to visit a tailor and make sure they were dressed as regal ladies would.  The expense was far higher than Elizabeth liked.

“This Kallan better be drunk and easy to rope up when we catch him,” she muttered darkly to Amelia as the two women were making their wardrobe purchase.  Forty pesos apiece!

*****

Both ladies stood off to the side, marveling at the bustling lobby of the vast and ornate _Gran Hotel_.  Men of all ages wearing three-piece suits or even tuxedos were chatting merrily, most with pipes or cigars.  The women who attended them carried themselves with an aristocratic air; all were dressed in the most lavish of styles.  And among these elites, a small army of bellhops and hotel servants darted, tending to the slightest whims of their masters.

“Hmm,” Elizabeth said, _sotto voice_.  “Let’s pass through at least once.  But not make any inquiries yet.”

Amelia nodded, for once not putting up an argument.

Moving quickly yet cautiously, the two bounty hunters split up and then combed through the hotel’s ground floor.  Keeping their heads upright and backs straight, they walked as prim ladies would, smiling but never talking, even to the eager men who paused to compliment their beauty.  They scrutinized every face.

The hotel seemed to be populated solely by rich Mexicans, Americans, and a silent yet suffering wait staff.  There were no Europeans, no obvious candidates for the Kallan name.

Irked, Elizabeth began regretting placing so much trust in little Rosa.  How could a five-year-old street urchin spot a figure like Kallan, anyway?  Based on what, a funny name and vague description?  It was far more likely the little brat had realized that if she offered up a promising story-

A burst of lively piano music from a side room snagged Elizabeth’s attention.  Beyond the opulent saloon, there was a small theatre, separated away from the hotel by a dark red curtain.  The brunette could hear men stomping and cheering under the piano.  She craned her neck.

The interior of the theatre was dark.  On the stage, five can-can girls pranced in time with the frantic music, kicking their shapely legs and tossing their frilly skirts about.  As dancers, they lacked coordination and rhythm, but their all-male audience didn’t seem to mind at all.  The cheering and hooting grew louder.

Elizabeth stepped inside, careful to keep to the back wall.

The dance show stumbled on.  The most voluptuous of the dancers stepped forward, raising up her skirt even higher.  As the men thundered with applause, her sweaty face glowed.  She was loving the attention.

A young waiter passed before Elizabeth, carrying a tray with glasses of whiskey.  As the boy passed, a tall fellow rose from his seat in the audience, intercepting the servant with a staggering walk.

Elizabeth’s breath caught.  This man had snow-white hair, pale skin, and sharp blue eyes.  An albino!  Perhaps forty years old, he wore a tan suit, lopsided cowboy hat, and boots without a speck of dirt on them.  His hands were long and thin.

“ _Bedienung_ ,” the albino man said, his German accent slurred.  “No more whiskey, _verstehen?_   Tequila only!  After all, this is **_Mexico_** , yah?”

“Of course, _señor_ ,” the waiter said, leaning back.  The German loomed over him.

“And tell me,” the German went on, “who is that lovely lady, eh?”  He indicated the can-can dancer at center stage.

“That is Tonia, _Señor_ Kallan,” the waiter said, clearly wanting to get away.

“Tonia!” exclaimed the German, in delight.  “Well, yah, you will have to introduce me later, eh?”

The waiter nodded, extracting himself.  Kallan swayed on his feet for a moment, gazing up at the dancer in lust.  Then he staggered back to his seat.

Elizabeth stared after the drunken German in satisfaction.  One of her eyebrows arched as her mind began to hatch plots.

*****


	3. Gustav Kallan

“We should grab him **_tonight_** ,” Amelia insisted.

The two bounty hunters had rented a room in the much more affordable _Hotel Rojo_ , four blocks from where their quarry was staying.  (Five pesos a night… another expense!)  After snagging two plates of _mole verde zacatecano_ from a street vendor, the ladies had retired, changed back into reasonable clothes, and were now plotting how to strike.

“Hold on,” Elizabeth said, annoyed.  “I’m not sure how we play this.”

Amelia rolled her eyes.  “Oh for Pete’s sake.  You saw it yourself.  This Kallan has an eye for the ladies and cards.  So we use that.  You’ll be the silly little woman who doesn’t know how to gamble.  I’ll follow you guys and nick him with the venom once he takes you back to his room.”  She took a swig of beer.  “A classic Diversion Pincher.  Done.”

This was a solid plan, and both women knew it.  And yet, Elizabeth resented her young charge’s brazen attitude.

“Something’s not right,” scowled Elizabeth.  “This guy has – somehow – dispatched some of the best hunters in the business.  We could-“

“That’s gotta be a mistake,” Amelia interrupted rudely.  “I mean, **_c’mon_**.  You saw that chump.  He looks like he’d have trouble fighting a stiff breeze.”

The two women had carefully shadowed the albino German for the rest of the day.  The fellow had gotten steadily drunker, eventually staggering back to his hotel room just before dinnertime.  Amelia had not been impressed.

“I’m just saying we should be careful,” Elizabeth said in a measured tone.  “We have to be missing something here, right?”

“Fine,” snapped Amelia.  “How should we do this, O Great Leader?  Should we pose as whores?  Or as damsels in distress again?”  Contemptuously, she added, “Those are all the plans you ever come up with.  Why be original today?”

Elizabeth had had enough.  “What is **_with_** you?” she demanded angrily.  “Why is it that you constantly fight all of my decisions, eh?”

With a haughty glare, Amelia pointed a chicken bone at her partner.  “ ** _Your_** decisions?” she mocked.  “See, that’s your problem right there, Elizabeth.  You think you’re in charge.  That you decide everything for the both of us.”

“Yeah, well, I’ve been in this business longer,” shot back Elizabeth.  “If you had your way, Bear Tuffens would have seen us coming a mile off.”

Amelia jutted out her chin.  “You really think I’m an idiot, don’t you?” she accused.

“Don’t be dramatic,” warned her older partner.  “You’d have gotten yourself killed a dozen times over if it wasn’t for me.  Not only that-”

“ ** _You conceded bitch,_** ” spat Amelia.

Elizabeth straightened, recoiling as if Amelia had struck her across the face.

“You think the sun shines out your ass,” the younger blonde ranted.  “You know what?  I think you’re holding me back.“

 ** _That_** did it.  Months of swallowed resentment exploded from Elizabeth like lava from a volcano.  Despite her better instincts, the brown-haired woman found herself letting fly all the feelings she’d been holding back.

“You stupid **_wench_** ,” seethed Elizabeth.  “This is the gratitude you give me?  For all-“

“ ** _Gratitude?_** ” balked Amelia in outrage.

“For all I’ve taught and given you,” Elizabeth thundered on, “you should be thanking me, sister, **_thanking me!_**   You’d be dead in a ditch if it wasn’t for me.  Little fool.”

Amelia glared at her partner, her body tensing.  “You want to take that back?” she asked in a quiet, yet threatening, voice.

But Elizabeth waved a dismissive hand.  “Please,” she scoffed.  “You think you’re so tough?  So ready to take on the world?  Fine.  You got it, lady.”  She helped herself to the second drumstick on Amelia’s plate, then lazily reclined in her chair.  “Tomorrow morning, you’re on your own.  Good luck.  I’ll watch the obituaries for you.”

The blonde teen seethed.  “Fine.”  She snatched Elizabeth’s beer, then made a show of taking a greedy swig from the bottle.  “Tomorrow, I’ll capture Kallan on my lonesome.  That’ll show you who’s ready to work alone.”

Although she knew she was being too impulsive for her own good, Elizabeth’s eyes blazed.  “The hell you will,” she growled.  “I found him, remember?  He’s half mine.”

Amelia’s eyes narrowed.  “Fine,” she allowed.  “One last job together.  We split the take even, see?”  She took another gulp of beer.  “Then I better never see your hideous face again, get me?”

“Sounds great,” Elizabeth said, pretending not to care in the slightest.

The two women finished eating in angry silence.

*****

The following day, skies over Mexico City were overcast.  A cold breeze swept through the streets, causing all to warily glance upwards as they went about their business.  A harsh omen seemed to be issuing from the heavens.

But in the opulent cocoon of the _Gran Hotel_ ’s lobby, the wealthy played their bantering games, laughing and chuckling at how they were masters of all they saw.  Outside, the world was buffeted by wars, poverty, crime, suffering, all the things that lowly, common people had to endure.  But within the hotel?  Well, the deserving well-to-do needn’t concern themselves about such trivialities.  They laughed at all those not lucky enough to join their ranks.

Stepping off the elevator lift was one such gentleman.  The mysterious Mr. Kallan, freshly sobered up and bathed, now descended from his suite to mingle with his social cousins.  He wore a white tuxedo, which complimented his white hair and pale skin, perhaps a little too well.  A straw hat with a white band, worn at a crooked angle, completed his odd look.

Hotel guests glanced curiously at the German as he sauntered into the saloon.  Kallan smirked to himself, enjoying the attention.

It was good to cast a little mystery about him.  Kallan was a crook, a high-stakes thief who fleeced the very richest of the rich, and did so in such a way that his victims never knew he had struck.  But before he could saddle up to his marks, the German had to flaunt himself a little, to attract the right kind of attention.  Sooner or later, his next target would come to him.

Only a few gentlemen were in the bar, talking quietly amongst themselves, twirling whiskeys and Cuban cigars.  Kallan fought a twinge of disappointment.  He’d hoped to find a bigger crowd, if only to start pressing the flesh and to learn who his next mark should be.  Larger, tipsier crowds were better for this kind of social hobnobbing.

The German was about to depart when a young woman at the bar caught his eye.  She fingered a tall pint of dark beer, and was intently staring at playing cards, arranged before her in a clumsy pattern.  The woman’s brow wrinkled in confusion.

Kallan paused, admiring the view.  The woman was elegant and very beautiful, her slender figure well-displayed in the silk blend crepe dress that she wore.  The dress hugged her figure, displaying a taunt but luscious body.  The lady’s matching swan hat was tilted to one side, allowing rich, brown hair to playfully tumble down her graceful neck.  She was an exceptional beauty, with pretty lips, long eyelashes, and large, soft eyes.

As the German stared, the woman crossed her legs, and her skirt momentarily parted to reveal her long legs, enticingly wrapped in lace stockings.

Instantly, Kallan’s plans changed.  Admiring the woman’s body – especially that tight but shapely rear – the German wandered over, pretending to just happen to take the stool next to the mysterious beauty.

She did not look up.  Instead, the woman’s hand floated over one card, indecisive.  “Eighteen?” she murmured to herself.  “No, fifteen.  Fifteen.  Yes.”

She flipped over the card, revealing the seven of clubs.

“Bother!” the woman sighed, then reached for her beer.

Kallan had seen enough.  “You seem in need of assistance, _Fräulein_ ,” he said warmly, leaning in a little.  His keen eyes observed her very closely.

“Oh!” the woman exclaimed, jumping a little.

The German laughed politely.  “Forgive, please.  I notice you are learning cards…?”

His companion smiled, blushing.  “Yes,” she admitted.  “My goodness, there is a lot to know!”

She extended a small, delicate hand.  “I’m Elizabeth,” she offered.  “Pleased to meet you.”

“Kallan.  Gustav Kallan,” said the German, completing the handshake.  “So, tell me, what are you learning?”

“Jackblack,” Elizabeth replied dejectedly, gathering up the cards.  She sighed.  “My sister’s husband, he wants me to learn how to be a… a dealer?  Is that the word?  But my land, this game is all numbers.”  She shook her head.  “I don’t think women are meant to understand such things.”

Kallan licked his lips.  “You wish to be a dealer?” he asked.

“Oh my word,” Elizabeth exclaimed, looking mortified.  “You mustn’t say anything, mister, please?  Please?  My brother-in-law, he’s…”  She lowered her voice to a conspiratorial whisper.  “My brother-in-law is organizing a game in this hotel.  By invite only, the management doesn’t know about it, see?  I believe he wants pretty women to distract the men players…”  She sighed again.  “But I’ll be no good if I don’t understand the game.”

“The point of Jackblack,” she went on, “is to get enough cards to reach twenty-one.  I think.  The number cards are easy to understand, but the royal cards, they always confuse me.”

“See?” Elizabeth said, indicating a hand.  “That’s a three, a five, and an eight.  So this player has sixteen, right?”

“Yes, is so,” Kallan agreed.  The woman’s consternation amused him.

“So this player can only draw up to a… a five, correct?” Elizabeth half-stated, half-asked.  “Unless he draws an ace?  I think?”

She dealt another card, a Jack.

“Oh!” exclaimed Elizabeth, pointing excitedly at the new card.  “That means…   Oh, bother.  That means this player is batted?”

“Busted,” Kallan said smoothly.  “Yes, he has lost.”

He quickly scanned Elizabeth’s elegant hand.  No wedding band.

The beautiful young woman’s face fell.  “He **_lost?_** ” she said is dismay.  “Are you sure?”

“Allow me,” the German said, scooping up all the cards.  He shuffled, while nodding at the saloonkeeper to bring an ale.

*****

For the next two hours, Kallan patiently taught Elizabeth the tricks to Blackjack.  Because she was a mere woman, the intricates of the rules baffled her, but Kallan remained patient.  He even let he win a few hands as the lessons continued.

As the two played on, Elizabeth inched closer and closer to her instructor.  She lost her nervousness and laughed merrily at Kallan’s jokes, even the sexist ones.  At one point, her hand playfully rested on his thigh before she caught herself and quickly withdrew it.

What Kallan failed to notice was that Elizabeth was not drinking her beer.  Oh, she regularly lifted it to her lips and moved it about the bar.  But not a drop actually passed between her lips.  Yet Kallan downed three pints, under the assumption that they were both drinking together.

*****

“My word!” Elizabeth crowed when Kallan busted.  “I won?”

“Yes, _mein Liebling_ ,” the albino smirked.  “You won.”

“I won!” cheered Elizabeth, actually clapping her hands in glee.  “I won, I won!”

Her smile was bright, and from ear-to-ear.  Kallan found himself gazing longingly at those deep red lips.

Elizabeth leaned in towards the German, her eyes soft again.  “I’m so grateful to you, mister,” she murmured.  Once again, her hand rested on his thigh.  This time, she did not withdraw it.

“Oh, it was my pleasure, _Fräulein_ ,” replied Kallan smoothly.

The beautiful young woman looked deep into his eyes.  “May I ask you?” she near-whispered.  “Are you… married?”

Kallan grinned.

Sighing a little, Elizabeth leaned in even closer.  Her hand slid higher up his thigh.  “Take me to your room?” she moaned softly.

*****

Although it meant all of high society noted their departure, Kallan and his female companion rode up the lift together.  The well-to-do ladies were visibly shocked that a foreigner and a pretty young thing like Elizabeth would slink off together.  This was obviously an illicit affair!  Were there no standards of decency anymore?

Neither Kallan nor Elizabeth cared.  They maintained a cool distance until they reached the German’s suite door, but fell into one another’s arms as soon as they were inside.

Elizabeth’s mouth drew Kallan’s in, and she pressed against him with eagerness.  When the albino man reached to close the door, Elizabeth grabbed his hands and moved them to her breasts.  She firmly but slowly propelled him into the bedroom.  The door remained cracked open.

And then the two were climbing onto the bed, eagerly fondling one another.  Kallan, in particular, could not stop gripping Elizabeth’s tight buttocks.  He moaned with delight as she kissed him.  Elizabeth rolled onto onto her back, and pulling Kallan on top of her.

The two kissed harder.  Kallan’s fingers were fumbling with her dress buttons.  Meanwhile, Elizabeth was wrapping her strong arms about his waist.  And then…

**_!!!_ **

The German cried out as a sharp pain struck him, right in the back.  Elizabeth suddenly seized him tightly, her arms and legs becoming ironlike and holding him in place.

Kallan thrashed about as there was another bite of intense pain, and then another, and then yet another!  He was being stabbed!  The man cried out in agony and fear.

“Shut up, you stupid Kraut,” snarled Elizabeth.  She snatched a pillow, seeking to stuff it into his mouth.

Another set of hands appeared at Kallan’s throat, squeezing.  Whoever had stabbed him was now seeking to choke the life from him!  He tried to struggle…

But something was wrong.  Raw fire seemed to be coursing through his body.  Kallan’s muscles were locking up, disregarding the frantic commands from his brain.  He felt himself frothing at the mouth.  His legs began to spasm.  His head swam.

And then, Kallan’s eyes rolled back into his head.  The last thing he was aware of was being swallowed up by darkness and searing pain.  He was aware of no more.

*****

“Jesus,” Elizabeth grunted, pushing the rigid and still Kallan off her, “you sure took you sweet time.”

Amelia, standing over the bed, sneered.  “Yeah, so what?  You’ve left me dangling to be the make-out girl in plenty of Diversion Pinchers.  I wanted to make sure you got your jollies.”

Elizabeth glared at the younger woman, swallowing the insults she wanted to hurl.  “Let’s just finish the job, okay?”

“Fine,” Amelia replied coldly, already pulling the ropes from her carpetbag.

The two women hauled the unconscious Kallan into a chair, then struggled to bind his wrists and ankles.  His muscles were stiff from the spider poison, making the labor difficult.

As she worked, Elizabeth couldn’t help but glance around the suite.  The German had an extensive wardrobe, multiple moving trunks, and a desk loaded with bottles of chemicals.

“Great guns,” Elizabeth muttered.  “What was he doing in here?”  The labeled bottles included peroxide, diethyl, acetone, chloroform ether, formaldehyde, and many others.  Only a seasoned criminal – or kidnapper – would want such a chemical arsenal.

“Who cares?” grunted Amelia.  She slapped Kallan on the face once, making sure he was out.  “The hard part’s done.”

“Right,” Elizabeth agreed tartly.  She brushed her dress with one hand, seeking to smooth out the wrinkles.  “I’ll send a telegram to Jacob.  If we can keep loverboy here for a few days, Jacob should be able to provide-“

“Why do you get to notify the Old Man?” Amelia demanded, immediately suspicious.

The brunette let out a disgusted breath.  “Because, my dear,” she said, her voice dripping with condescension, “I’m the only one of us who knows how to reach him by telegram.”

Amelia blinked.  “Oh,” was all she could manage.

“You stay here,” ordered Elizabeth.  Secretly, she was delighted at the rage on Amelia’s face.  “I’ll send the wire, then be back with food.  We three might be holed up in this room for a while.”

“As soon as I get my twenty-five grand, I’m gone,” promised Amelia.  “You better not-“

“Oh, **_for Pete’s sake!_** ” exploded the older woman.  “You may be an ungrateful little whelp, but I’m not about to stiff you.  **_Get me?_** ”  She angrily put on her white gloves.  “You’ll get your money, sweetie.  Then I better never see your face again.”

*****

Elizabeth could have used the telegraph office on the _República del Salvador_ , two blocks away.  But if anyone else was tracking her or Kallan – always a possibility in the bounty business – then no doubt the telegraph officer there would be questioned.  A wise hunter would never leave such an obvious trail.

No, Elizabeth knew that it was better to travel across the city, if only to ensure her telegram could not be connected to Kallan’s capture.  Besides, the longer she took, the more time foolish Amelia would have to sit and stew.  _Serves her right,_ Elizabeth thought smugly.

So she took her time.  She rode in a deliberately meandering pattern.  She even paused to admire the gardens outside of the _Palacio de Bellas Artes_.  Nothing was blooming in that cold January weather, of course, but Elizabeth liked to imagine the possibilities.  Someday, when she was completely out of the bounty hunter trade, she’d take her daughters to this special place.  It was a nice thought.

*****

Over an hour later, Elizabeth breezed into a shabby pawn shop in _Anáhuac I Secc_ , a quieter neighborhood.  There was a dusty telegraph machine in the back.  Perfect.

Using her flawless Spanish, Elizabeth instructed the shopkeeper, “ _I need to send this,_ ” all while scribbling a message on paper.  “ _Right away, please?_ ”

“ _Si, señorita,_ ” the little man said, eyeing Elizabeth’s purse, white gloves, and delicate necklace.

After he had tapped out the message, Elizabeth handed the shopkeep ten pesos.  “ _They will be a reply for me in less than an hour,_ ” she informed him.  “ _Keep it to yourself.  When I get back, there’ll be another ten for you.  Understand?_ ”

The man nodded.

Satisfied, Elizabeth stepped back out into the street.  There had to be a café nearby; she could smell coffee and fresh pastries.

*****

Back in the _Gran Hotel_ , Amelia grew tired of glaring at the printed wallpaper and drawn curtains.  She began pacing, then inspecting Kallan’s curious possessions.  Before blonde teenager knew it, she was rummaging with abandon, prodding into anything that fascinated her.

Kallan certainly had traveled far.  The shelves of his suite had been filled with books in German, Spanish, French, Italian, Russian, Polish, Swedish, and a few other languages Amelia couldn’t identify.  There were boxes of all sizes and colors, some exuding musky or sweet odors.  No two of the strange bottles matched one another.  There was a life-sized poster of the human skeleton; another of muscle anatomy; a third on the human nervous system.  Kallan even had a polished human skull lying atop two small crates in the corner.

The albino German suddenly coughed, loudly, causing Amelia to whirl about.  He forced his eyes open, which looked painful.  The man’s pale skin had a faint tinge of green.

“Careful, _señor_ ,” Amelia warned.  “You’ve got a nasty poison in your veins.  Best let it wear off slowly.”

Kallan groaned, his eyes not focusing.  He struggled with the bonds on his wrists and ankles, but his muscles were still slow to respond.

Amelia shrugged.  She’d seen other bounties try to fight off the tarantula venom before.  It usually ended in vomiting and prolonged weakness.

The German thrashed about for another few seconds, before falling back in his chair.  His breath heaved.  “What…” he rasped.  “What… did you do… to me?”

“You’ve been captured, love,” Amelia said heartlessly.  “I don’t know who put the price on your head, but you’re about to meet them.”

Kallan open and closed his mouth once, not unlike a fish.  He cocked his head to the left, squinting at his captor.

“You’re a girl,” he said stupidly.

Amelia shot him a pitying look.  “Well done,” she remarked.

The captured albino bit his lip, and seemed to be thinking carefully.  “Where’s your partner?” he said, his voice still cracking.

“That’s not your business,” warned Amelia, cracking open one of the German’s enormous traveling trunks.

Kallan shifted in his seat.  “Your partner… she’ll betray you, _Liebchen_ ,” he said plainly.  “You know that, don’t you?  I wouldn’t lie to you.”

“Shut up,” Amelia said sternly.

“She didn’t sound like she cares for you.”

“ ** _Shut up,_** ” repeated the blonde teenager.  For emphasis, she drew her Bowie knife and pointed it at her prisoner.

The German grinned, rolling his head to the right now.  “Ah, you see it too,” he said smugly.  His voice was brittle, but contained a flicker of bravery.

The female bounty hunter raised a lip in contempt.  “You know nothing, old man,” she pronounced, and made a show of turning her back while sheathing her knife.

“No?” retorted Kallan.  His face twitched painfully, probably a kick from the tarantula juice.  “I can see the doubt in your eyes, _Fräulein_.  Yah, I can see how your fingers tremble when you think of her.”

The man coughed violently, then forced himself to sit tall.  “Heh.  You are as plain to read as a book, _kleines mädchen_.  You act tough before your older sister, yah, but deep inside…”  He fixed Amelia in a tight stare.  “Inside, _Liebchen_ , you will be lost without her.”

Amelia refused to answer him.

Elizabeth had once mentioned that on some men, tarantula venom paralyzed the body, but not the mind, nor the ears.  It was entirely possible that this Kallan had overheard the two bounty hunters arguing.  If so, he might know more than he was letting on.

“Yah,” Kallan said, “it is true.  I see it so clearly.  You act tough to your sister, but you are afraid to lose her.”

Amelia felt exposed.  In a flash of anger, she spat, “ ** _Shut up!_** ”

The albino burst into another fit of coughing.  He slumped in his seat, looking pained.

“Might…” he wheezed, “I have some… water?”

“No,” Amelia said coldly.

More coughing.  “Your fee for capturing me…” gagged Kallan.  “It is probably… worth less if I am… damaged.  Or dead…  Yah?”

The blonde teenager scowled.  The German man was shaking like a leaf.  Even if he was free of his bonds, it would be at least another hour before the tarantula venom was completely out of his system.  He was weak as a kitten until then.

The poison also drained the victim of water.  Kallan was almost certainly dying of thirst.

Amelia pursed her lips.  With a dour expression, she stalked to the small kitchen, scooping up the water pitcher and a ceramic mug.  She poured, then offered the cup to her prisoner.

Kallan took the vessel, his fingers trembling.  As he tried to bring the mug to his lips, his bound wrists twisted.  Cup and water tumbled into the carpet.

“ _Scheisse,_ ” he groaned.

Amelia scowled again.  “Here,” she snapped, and in one swift movement, drew her Bowie knife.  “Don’t try anything,” she warned.  “I know how to cut you so you will bleed out.  Slowly.”

“Yah, I will cooperate,” Kallan agreed meekly.  “I wouldn’t lie to you.”

The teenager cut through the ropes binding his wrists in a savage gesture.  Then she tossed aside the frayed bonds.  Her knife still in hand, she poured a second cup, and then thrust it at the German.

He seized the mug with clumsy but greedy fingers, then downed the water in seconds.  Amelia poured yet a third glass, and then a forth.  The man drank it all.

But on the next cup, Kallan’s fingers closed around Amelia’s wrist.  He gripped her, although his strength was pitiful.

“Hey,” warned Amelia.  The Bowie knife was still in her other hand.

Kallan looked up at her, and his gaze was kind, but probing.

Momentarily confused, Amelia hesitated.

“You see?” the German said softly.  “You are worried, yah.  It is as I said.  I wouldn’t lie to you.”

Amelia tried to pull her hand back, but Kallan hung on.

“You see here?” he remarked, his long fingers gently pressing into Amelia’s wrist.  “Your pulse, it is…”  He paused, as if listening.  “…slightly erratic.  This is your carotid artery here, yah?  It is bundled with saltatory nerves.  Those nerves are tense.”

Kallan looked deep into Amelia’s eyes.  “That means you are afraid, _Liebchen_.  Deep down, you are afraid of being abandoned.  Of losing your partner.”

Amelia didn’t respond.  While she knew the German was probably trying to trick her somehow, to maneuver her into a moment of pity or regret.  Captured marks tried to do this all the time. 

But what Kallan said was true.  Absolutely true.

In a flash of anger, Amelia raised her knife.  “Let go of me,” she said in a low, dangerous voice.

The German made a soft clucking sound, like a mother trying to soothe a baby.  “ _Mein Liebling,_ ” he said softly.  “I am so weak, how could I harm you?”  He coughed twice.  “I couldn’t lie to you, girl.”

“Just remember who’s the prisoner here,” Amelia intoned.

“Yah,” Kallan said sadly.  He intently studied Amelia’s wrist with his eyes and fingers.  “Here, you see?  This is your saltatory nerve, right here.  Poor _Liebling_ , you must be a fright.  Here, I will help you feel better.”

The German carefully stroked the tiniest section of Amelia’s wrist, his two fingers barely touching her soft skin.  Again and again he tapped her.

“I don’t feel anything,” the blonde teenager retorted.

“ _Nein_ , not immediately,” Kallan conceded.  He fell silent for a moment, intent on his work.

“You and Elizabeth…” he then said, “you must be highly skilled hunters, yah?  I was completely fooled.”

“That’s the idea,” replied Amelia.

“Yah,” Kallan sighed.  “Alas.  I would have made you both rich, had you let me go.”

Amelia frowned.  Once captured, prisoners always promised a higher sum if only they would be released.  But that was a sure-fire way of soiling a bounty hunter’s reputation.

“Never mind,” Kallan murmured, as if reading her mind.  “It is over for me, yah, I know that now.  But perhaps if I help you, you will loosen my bonds, yah?”

Amelia said, “I wouldn’t-“

“Shhh…” implored Kallan, still stroking.  He seemed calm, intent only on this one, insignificant activity.  “There.  You may feel it now.  I wouldn’t lie to you.  You feel calmer, yah?”

The blonde teenager hesitated.  Strange… but she **_did_** feel calmer.  Peaceful.  In control.  Her earlier anxiety was melting away.  She lowered her knife.

“Yah,” Kalan mumbled.  “The saltatory nerve, it connects up the nervous system to the brain, the heart, the lungs.  If I apply just a little pressure here, like so, it helps the heart to slow, the body to breath deeper, the brain to feel quiet.  You feel relaxed and peaceful, yah?”

“Yeah,” Amelia agreed.

Her hand was still holding the mug of water.  With his free hand, Kallan took the cup, setting it aside.  Amelia’s fingers didn’t resist him.

As Kallan’s other hand continued to stroke her, Amelia was surprised to realize how tranquil she felt.  Her worries were nearly dissolved.  Each pass of the German’s fingers was helping her feel calm and cool.

From outside the _Gran Hotel_ , they could hear the dim bells of streetcars, the _clop-clop-clop_ of horses, the occasional laughter of a small child.  A flock of pigeons flapped past the windows, although the drawn curtains prevented them from being seen.

Kallan stroked on.  “There,” he said calmly.  “You see?  You feel better now.”  He continued rubbing.

Amelia paused.  She **_did_** feel calm.  Perhaps it was her imagination, but the dark moods which had gripped her earlier were fading.  She noticed her own heartbeat within her chest, slowing down.

“It feels good, yah?” Kallan said absently, still intent on her wrist.  “I do this to myself when I must travel for long distances.  It is good for… how do you say… for meditation.  For relaxing.  I wouldn’t lie to you.  Relaxing…  Relaxing…”  He repeated the word in a near-whisper.

Amelia allowed her fingers to curl as they drained of stress.  Her breathing seemed slower and fuller.

“Yes, this is what you needed, I think,” the albino continued.  “This technique, it was discovered in Vienna.  Marvelous for helping people, even just a little.  So good to help relax.  Relax…  **_Relax…_**   Yah, you are enjoying the sensation?”

“I… um,” Amelia said, surprised that it took effort to speak.

“Shh, _Liebchen_ ,” hushed Kallan.  “It is better that you remain silent.  The effect is better that way.  Here, put away that blade and give me your other wrist, yah?”

 _Eh, why not?_ Amelia thought.  Kallan’s ankles were still tied.  He was in no position to hurt her.  The teenager slipped the Bowie knife into its sheath, then surrendered her other arm.

“Ah, yes, you are stressed here, too,” observed the German.  He held both of Amelia’s wrists in his hands, now stroking her skin in alteration with his thumbs.  Amelia stood squarely before him.

“Very good,” her prisoner complimented.  “Yah, very good.”  He fell into silence, simply concentrating on his work.

The blonde bounty hunter sighed, surprised at how tranquil she felt.  She felt assured, in control.  Strangely trouble-free.  Her thoughts were clear.

Yes, in an hour or so, Elizabeth would return.  They’d remain in this room for a few more days, eventually handing Kallan over to Harcourt and his henchmen.

Then, with a small fortune in her purse, Amelia would bid Elizabeth farewell.  It would be a short and professional good-bye.  There would be no hurt feelings, no bitter accusations, no squabbling of any kind.  The two women would shake hands once, and then that would be it.  It all seemed so easy.  Amelia was ready.

The girl exhaled, a long and slow and cleansing breath.  For a moment, her eyes shut.  She reopened them.

“Mmm,” Kallan murmured, still intent on her wrists.  “Yah, you are responding so well, _mein Liebling_.  I wouldn’t lie to you.  Let go of your worries.  Let go of your stresses.  All will be mended in time.  For now, you relax and let go…  Relax…”

He began to repeat a mindless patter, mostly talking about how Amelia could release her problems, if only for a moment.  She could relax.  Relax, and then relax even more.  Despite herself, the bounty hunter felt herself drift along.

“Ach, you are responding so well,” Kallan complimented her.  “So well.  Allow yourself to relax, _mein Liebling_ , you will emerge stronger for it.  Your mind will assert control, and you will have whatever you desire.  **_I wouldn’t lie to you._** ”

Amelia smiled to herself.  This strange relaxation, it felt good, no doubt about it.  She allowed her eyes to close once more.

It felt like her feet were melting into the carpet.  Her arms were beginning to feel like rubber.  As she breathed, it seemed her body was detaching, slowly falling into a strange, waking sleep.  A soft tingling began sweeping over her.

Amelia opened her eyes slowly and glanced downward.  She realized Kallan was now watching her face very closely.  As his voice rippled on and on, speaking only of relaxation and letting go, Amelia discovered that she could not look away.  She stood, transfixed in his gaze.

“Very good, _Liebchen,_ you respond so very well,” the German complimented.  “Very well.  Now discover that you are so relaxed, you care for nothing in this world.  You only want to relax and follow my voice, relax and follow my voice, follow my voice, yah.  **_I wouldn’t lie to you._**   Relax…”

 _I do feel relaxed,_ was Amelia’s last conscious thought.

And then Kallan was telling her that her eyelids were so heavy, she could not keep them open any longer.  Amelia was hardly surprised when her lids shut on their own.

And then, she was drifting, drifting into a sweet nothingness, where she felt warm and relaxed and free in every way.  Kallan’s voice flowed into her mind, coaxing her and giving her even more wonderful instruction.  Amelia listened to all that he said, delighted.

“And now, _Liebchen_ ,” the German’s soft voice said to her, “you will find that all I tell you will go straight into your subconscious.  You must follow and obey all of my instructions, yah?  You only want to follow and obey and all commands.  Because **_I wouldn’t lie to you_**.  While you are in this relaxed, pleasant state, whatever I tell you to do or say or believe will become your reality.  You cannot resist my voice, Amelia.”

And it was true; as Kallan took control, Amelia found that she couldn’t resist any of the commands he planted deep within her mind.  In her strange, blissful state, the girl simply wanted to do whatever the man told her.

Later… Amelia was unsure how much later… she discovered that her eyes were opening.  She was aware, yet her thoughts were asleep.  She had no will of her own.

Amelia drew her knife, cutting away the remainder of Kallan's bonds.  Then the German smiled, standing and unbuttoning the front of her dress.

“Now kiss me,” he demanded, his graceful fingers reaching inside her clothing to touch her breasts.

“Yes, master,” Amelia said wistfully.  And she obeyed.

*****


	4. Hank Pulaski

The sky overhead rumbled.  Elizabeth looked up from her newspaper, surprised.  When had rainclouds rolled in?

She gulped down the remains of her coffee, then glanced at her tiny pocket watch.  It was time.  She tossed a few pesos onto the table, then hurried back to the little pawn shop.

The shopkeeper was waiting.  The instant he saw Elizabeth, he smiled, and thrust a small telegraph form at her, written in his own hand.  Elizabeth frowned, struggling to read the sloppy penmanship:

**_THOUGHT I TOLD YOU NOT TO ACQUIRE K STOP.  IF YOU ARE CERTAIN PACKAGE IS SAFE, DELIVER TO TW NO LATER THAN 8 PM TOMORROW STOP._ **

The beautiful brunette grinned.  Good news!  While he was upset that the Black Tarantula had chased Kallan without his say-so, Harcourt was ready to apprehend the German tomorrow night!  “TW” meant “ _Tepotzotlán_ warehouse,” a deserted locale north of the city.  So in a little over a day this job would be completed!

Elizabeth dropped twenty pesos into the shopkeeper’s hand, then darted back into the street.  There were arrangements to be made.

*****

By the time Elizabeth reached the _Gran Hotel_ , the rain was pouring in buckets.  The bounty hunter had planned to snag food from the Plaza vendors, but alas, it was too late for that now.  She’d had to patronize the hotel restaurant, at extravagant cost.  Elizabeth grumbled to herself, but purchased a meal basket of chicken and biscuits to carry upstairs.

The hallway outside Kallan’s suite was thankfully empty.  Elizabeth tapped quickly on the door, using the secret knock she shared with Amelia.  There was no response.

The brown-haired woman frowned, but forced herself to be patient.  Amelia might be playing childish games… but then again, she might have a legitimate reason for delay.  Elizabeth eyed the door, waiting.

When she was about to knock again, the door was wrenched open.  Amelia stood there, looking oddly distracted.  Elizabeth slipped into the suite.

“What took so long?” the older woman snapped.

“Bathroom,” replied Amelia, no trace of resentment in her voice.

Ah.  That was plausible.  Elizabeth forgot that the _Gran Hotel_ suites all had their own private water closets.

Kallan was still in his chair, his body stiffly at attention, hands and feet bound.  Just as Elizabeth had left him.  She circled about her prisoner, inspecting his face closely, and setting down the basket.  At the same time, Amelia moved silently to the German’s collection of odd bottles.

“Good news,” Elizabeth coolly said to Kallan.  “Tomorrow evening, you’ll be on a train for America.”

The albino man glowered.  His eyes fell to the basket.

“What did you bring me, _Fräulein?_ ” he asked.  The smell of fried chicken was wafting through the suite.

Elizabeth cocked one eyebrow.  “I haven’t decided if you get fed yet,” she said tartly.  “Be a good boy, and we’ll see, eh?”

Kallan’s jaw jutted to the left.  “You really should release me,” he said, his words cold and angry.

Elizabeth pulled off her gloves.  “And you are in no position to bargain, my friend.”

The German made a long face.  The tarantula poison was almost out of his system, Elizabeth could see.

“You know,” the brunette said over her shoulder to Amelia, “we may have to tranquilize him between now and tomorrow evening.  I don’t think he can escape, but why risk it?”

“That’s a good idea,” Amelia agreed, coming up behind her partner.  “How much tarantula concentrate do we have left?”

“Not a lot,” Elizabeth admitted.  “Maybe enough to-“

 ** _Suddenly the Amelia seized Elizabeth from behind!_**   One strong arm pinned Elizabeth’s arms to her torso, while Amelia’s other hand pressed a soft and sweet-smelling cloth against Elizabeth’s nose and mouth.

Shocked and horrified, brunette kicked and screamed.  But Amelia’s surprise was complete.  The chloroform-soaked rag pressed tighter against Elizabeth’s face, and in terror, she felt herself grow weak and dizzy.  The room began to spin.

As Elizabeth’s vision blurred and faded, she saw Kallan, rising up from his chair, and tossing aside the fake bonds which were lying across his wrists.  There was an evil smile on his face.

*****

Elizabeth’s drugged mind slowly swam back into the physical world.  Her thoughts, ragged and confused, struggled to assert themselves.  Her head reeled, and her stomach felt sick.  The world wobbled and heaved.  It was hard to breathe.

Heaving in short gasps, Elizabeth forced her eyes open.  The light seemed harsh, glaring.  Her stiff muscles refused to obey her, and there were sharp pains in her wrists, ankles, and neck.

“Heh,” a cruel voice said.  A man.

Kallan.

Fighting nausea and confusion, Elizabeth peered about.  She was still in the _Gran Hotel_ suite, but now she was the prisoner sitting in the chair.  Her arms and legs were tightly tied down, with the ropes biting into her flesh.  Another cord had been cruelly wound about her neck, threatening to strangle her if she lunged forward.  The scratchy bonds were already taunting her skin.

The chair had been moved into the darkened bedroom, and before Elizabeth was the master bed.  A nude young woman lay on the mattress, belly-down, but her hips and legs hung over the edge.  Kallan had parted those long legs, and was standing between them, his hands clamped onto the woman’s backside.  One set of fingers was burrowing into her vagina, causing the woman to squirm and wriggle in uncontrollable sexual pleasure.  The other hand was planted on a round buttock, with the thumb inserted an inch into the woman’s anus.

Kallan flexed his arms, and the woman cried out with delight.  She tossed her head, and now Elizabeth could see her face:  Amelia.  The blonde teenager was helpless in Kallan’s erotic grip, receiving an orgasm that was making her every muscle quake.

Loving his power over Amelia’s body, the German reached even deeper.  “ ** _Cum now!_** ” he bellowed.

“Yes, ma---  …ohhhh…!  Ohh!  **_Ohhhhh!!!_** ” Amelia squealed, then began kicking against the floor.

Elizabeth, disgusted, watched as her partner’s buttocks tensed.  Amelia almost crushed Kallan’s hand.

There was a moment when the girl’s taught body nearly snapped the bed in two.  Kallan and Elizabeth waited, allowing Amelia to ride out her orgasm.

And then, the blonde lost strength.  Her creamy-white body visibly deflated and sagged into the bedsheets.  She was gasping for breath.

Kallan smirked.  “Amelia,” he ordered, “roll over.”

“Yes master,” the young woman rasped, and she struggled to climb onto the bed.

When her hips were resting on the mattress and she was on her back, Amelia opened her eyes, looking up at the albino man.

“And now, you will **_SLEEP…!_** ” Kallan told her, passing a hand over the girl’s face.

Instantly, Amelia’s expression went blank and her eyes shut.  Her body lost all energy and she went completely limp.

Kallan straightened, running appreciative fingertips over Amelia’s body.  She lay there, as if completely unaware.

 ** _Now_** Elizabeth understood.  Somehow, Amelia had been mesmerized.

It had been a long, long time since Elizabeth had seen a person under hypnosis.  Her mind flitted back into old memories, back to her carnival days, when Dr. Entrantro had put people under his spell.

Kallan must have tricked Amelia in some way, and now the poor girl had no control over her own thoughts or will.  A pit of despair opened up in Elizabeth’s stomach.

“Heh,” Kallan smirked, noting Elizabeth’s reaction.  “Amelia is a wonderful girl, _nein?_ ”  Gloating, he patted Amelia on the hip.

“You bastard,” Elizabeth croaked, her voice dry and brittle.  Her rage boiled over.  “I swear, if I get out of this chair-“

“When next you do,” Kallan interrupted dismissively, “you will be my slave, just as your younger partner is now, yah.”

The German walked past Elizabeth, back into the main room of the suite.  The captive bounty hunter could hear the clink of glass as he began looking through his collection of bottles and medicines.

“I suppose,” he said loudly as he worked, “you perhaps wondered why there is such a handsome price on my head, yah?”

Elizabeth furiously pulled at her bonds.  Cheap ropes like the ones on her wrists tended to stretch a bit when stressed.  If Kallan was distracted long enough, Elizabeth hoped she might slip a hand or two free.

Kallan continued working.  “Back in the war, I was one of the Kaiser’s best interrogators,” he said wistfully.  “ _Och_ , back then they would bring me English, French, Belgian, Greek, Swedish prisoners.  Yah.  None thought they would talk.  But with my advanced medical knowledge of the body and my mastery of the mind, they all did.  All of them.  None can resist me once I go to work on them.  Amelia has learned that, yah.”

Elizabeth let out a gasp of pain as her ropes cut deeper into her flesh.  Whomever had tied her down had known what they were doing.  Too late, she realized that Amelia, under Kallan’s control, had probably done this handiwork.  There was no escape.

“After the war, after Germany’s **_betrayal_** at Versailles,” Kallan continued, sounding bitter, “I was lost, yah.  I wandered for years, penniless.  But then, I realized I could enslave the unsuspecting.  I could mesmerize the wealthy, take their fortunes, and fuck their pretty daughters, yah?  Why not?”

The albino returned to the bedroom, his hands cradling a long, thin object.  “Someday, when I have enough money, I will return to my fatherland,” he remarked.  “Use my powers and wealth to help build a new, stronger Germany, yah?  That is no doubt why your government wants to capture me.”

Elizabeth glared up at the man.  “Other bounty hunters will find you,” she promised darkly.

“Oh I doubt that,” Kallan assured her, now bending over her.  “Once you and Amelia kill your contract man for me… Jacob Harcourt, wasn’t that his name?  Yah, Harcourt.  Once Harcourt is dead, who is to know I am here?”

Elizabeth felt a stab of fear.  **_Kill Harcourt?_**

“Just relax, _Fräulein,_ ” said Kallan, reaching for Elizabeth’s arm.

Now the bounty hunter could see what the German was holding: a needle and syringe.  The syringe was loaded with a faint yellow drug.

“Don’t you dare,” Elizabeth threatened, recoiling from him as best she could.

The German looked at her, almost with pity.  “This will be easier if you don’t fight it, _Liebchen,_ ” he advised calmly.

And then he plunged the needle into Elizabeth’s arm and emptied the syringe.

Elizabeth yelled in pain.  Her broken little voice did not carry far.

Kallan paused to make sure the drug was fully expelled, then set the needle aside.  “We’ll need a few minutes before you’ll be ready,” he informed her snidely.

And then the German returned to the bed, once again admiring Amelia’s body.  The blonde girl remained asleep and unaware.

Kallan leaned over her, whispering commands.  His appreciative hands wandered over Amelia’s motionless body.

As she watched this perverse display, Elizabeth made a few last feeble attempts to pull free of her ropes.  It was no use.  She had no strength.  Already, she could feel the drug tingling within her arm.

Kallan snapped his fingers, once.  Slowly, Amelia opened her eyes.

As Elizabeth watched, the naked blonde stood, blinking and looking about.  The eyes of the two women met.

“…Amelia…” Elizabeth begged.

But the blonde teenager made no expression of recognition, nor even seemed to notice Elizabeth had spoken.  She tossed her hair, then knelt before Kallan.  Her slender fingers began unbuttoning the German’s trousers.

Elizabeth was feeling nauseated and drowsy, an artificial sleepiness descending over her thoughts.  She could no longer feel her fingers or toes.

Indifferent to her partner, Amelia opened Kallan’s fly, then drew out his erect cock.  Her fingers gratefully rubbed the appendage up and down, making it stiff and hard.  Kallan grinned.  As Amelia put his tip into her mouth, the German allowed his smile to grow wider.

*****

By the time Kallan ejaculated, Elizabeth was barely aware of her surroundings.  Her body felt leaden, immobile, and her thoughts were clumsy and sluggish.  It seemed like her heart and lungs were operating much slower than usual.

Meanwhile the German was laughing quietly, while buttoning up his fly.  “Ah, _mein Liebling_ , you are wonderful,” he said to Amelia, still on her knees.

“Thank you, master,” the blonde girl said neutrally.

“Now,” smiled Kallan, “I think Elizabeth is ready.”

He moved before his beautiful captive, inspecting her closely.  With his thumb, he lifted one of Elizabeth’s eyelids, then the other.  She could barely resist him.

“Yah, _sehr gut,_ ” Kallan muttered.  He vanished into the main room for a moment, returning with a large crystal pendant suspended on a golden chain.  The crystal began to swing back and forth before Elizabeth’s eyes.

“Already you feel so relaxed, _Liebchen,_ ” the German said soothingly.  “So relaxed.  Now, notice how your eyes focus on the crystal all on their own.  Already, you are relaxing more and more.  Deeper and deeper.  Yes…”

As he spoke, the pendant swam before Elizabeth’s eyes.  Her already-tranquilized body **_was_** relaxing even more, responding to Kallan’s voice.  Already, she could feel it seep into her mind.  The German’s tone was loving, inviting.

“Relax, Elizabeth, relax…” the voice urged her.  “There is nothing to fear.  You are relaxing, letting go…  Yes…”

 _I’m being hypnotized,_ Elizabeth thought dimly.  Kallan was right; she was unable to resist.

As her thoughts began to dissolve, the young woman’s mind drifted away, into the past…

*****

_Elizabeth was fifteen.  Still blossoming into a woman, the young girl was skinny, too thin, and dressed in the shabbiest of dresses.  Her freckled and brown hair (tied back in pigtails) made her look even younger than she was._

_As the memory unfolded, Elizabeth realized her arm was being gripped tightly.  Hank Pulaski, an overweight and sweaty fellow, was hauling her through the parked wagons of the Manistrelli Traveling Carnival, filled with performers getting ready for that night’s show.  Few people bothered to glance at the terrified girl in Pulaski’s clutches._

_The heavyset man reached a wagon marked “PETER TRAVERS, RINGMASTER” and pounded on the door._

_“That you, Hank?” a man’s voice inside called out.  “Com’on in!”_

_Elizabeth was shoved through the small door.  The inside of this wagon was a makeshift bedroom, dressing room, and office, all crammed into the tiniest of spaces.  A tall, thin man in an impressive moustache and bright red suit was adjusting his cufflinks._

_Pulaski threw the teenaged Elizabeth into the only chair.  Then he slammed the door shut with an angry grunt._

_“What’s all this?” the man in the red suit said._

_“Travers, this little whelp,” Pulaski snarled, jabbing a thick finger at Elizabeth, “just tried to pick my pocket, not three minutes ago!”_

_Elizabeth cringed.  It was true.  Was she about to be whipped?_

_“I see,” Travers observed coolly.  “And what do you want me to do about this?”_

_“I still need a stage assistant,” harrumphed Pulaski.  “A pretty girl who will look luscious in that red dress.  When this one’s cleaned up, she’ll do nicely.”_

_Travers made a sour expression.  “The budget’s tight as is, Hank.”_

_“I ain’t gonna pay her,” Pulaski sneered.  “I just need your okay for an extra bed and her meals.  That is, assuming your gambling ain’t wiped out our petty funds.”_

_The ringmaster frowned at this jab, but shrugged his shoulders.  “There’s enough to feed her, I guess.  But how you gonna keep her from running away?”_

_Now Pulaski grinned and stood tall.  “I’ll apply my craft,” he said slyly, his fat hand dipping into his pocket._

_Suddenly a silver pocketwatch was dangling from his fingers.  Pulaski held it before Elizabeth’s wide eyes, allowing the glittering orb to spin and swing.  “Watch this, girl,” he ordered.  “Watch it carefully…”_

_Still terrified, Elizabeth did as she was told.  She had no idea what the watch was for, but Pulaski seemed pleased that she was following his instructions.  Perhaps if she behaved, this cruel man would let her go?_

_Elizabeth listened as Pulaski droned on, twirling the watch before her eyes.  Soon, she began to feel drowsy…  lethargic…  Her earlier fear was washed away…  She didn’t want to move…  Then her eyes were closing…_

_“Sleep…” Pulaski told her, over and over.  “Sleeeeep…”_

_And then Elizabeth was floating in a strange dream, where she could hear the two men talking, yet could not move or speak._

_“There,” Pulaski said, satisfied.  “She’s mine now.  She’s deeply hypnotized.  She’ll do whatever I say.  Anytime I tell her the word ‘trance,’ she will fall back under my spell.”_

_“You think your hold on her is that strong?” Travers asked._

_“She’s a weak-willed girl,” snorted the other man in disgust.  “She’s my slave now, even if she doesn’t know it.”_

_And then Elizabeth was commanded to open her eyes, to follow Pulaski, and do whatever he demanded.  A strange calm compelled her to do exactly what Pulaski wanted.  She had no way to resist him…_

*****

“You relax even deeper, _Liebchen_ , yah,” Kallan’s smooth voice said, cutting deeper into Elizabeth’s mind.  Her eyes briefly closed.

Her thoughts drifted once again…

*****

_Elizabeth was back in the carnival, now seventeen years old.  It was nighttime, after yet another performance.  Pulaski, using the stage name “Dr. Enchantro,” had once again used his magic over her to force her perform with him as the Lovely Assistant.  Now, the carnival people were unwinding.  Bonfires crackled in the distance._

_The teenager shifted her body.  She was lying on her cot inside Pulaski’s wagon, and – as usual – the cruel magician had chained her ankle to ensure she couldn’t escape once the hypnotism wore off.  The cold night wind seeped into the wagon and bit at her._

_This was Elizabeth’s miserable existence.  By day, an entranced, submissive sidekick.  By night, a bound captive._

_Outside the wagon, she could hear Pulaski and Travers, drinking corn whiskey, sitting back in their chairs, and watching the stars._

_“How much did you lose this time?” Pulaski asked, his words a little slurred._

_“Don’t ask,” replied Travers, sounding dour._

_“You gotta get off the cards, mate,” grumbled the stage magician._

_There was a pause as the bottle changed hands._

_“Elizabeth keeps filling that stage dress nicely,” Travers said, switching topics._

_“Yeeeeeah.”_

_“I think the men now come to your show to just stare at her legs,” offered the ringmaster.  In admiration, he added, “She really can’t resist your commands, can she?”_

_“Nope,” Pulaski said proudly.  “One word – ‘trance’ – and she’s mine.”_

_Another pause as someone drank._

_“You know the best part?” Pulaski went on, now bragging.  “If the stupid little fool had known_ **anything** _about hypnotism, she never would have gone under in the first place.”_

_“What do you mean?” asked Travers._

_“People ‘re stupid,” explained Pulaski, his words even more slurred than before.  “Peter, if I were t’hypnotize you for th’ first time, y’know what would happen to you?”_

_“No,” said Travers._

_“Nothin!” the magician exclaimed.  “People can resist hypnosis, no problem.  It ain’t magic.  Its just trickery.”_

_Now Travers sounded alarmed.  “You mean Elizabeth could wake up from your trances at any minute?”_

_“Naw,” Pulaski scoffed.  “Its too late for her.  I got so many subconscious triggers in her head, she can’t resist me no more.”  Pause, another gulp.  “Too bad she didn’t know that when we met!”_

_Pulaski dissolved into cruel laughter.  “Inna ‘nother year, she’ll be of age,” he crowed to himself.  “Then, I’ll force her to marry me.  We’ll fuck ev’ry night, you watch.  Ev’ry night.”_

_Elizabeth buried her head into the pillow and sobbed._

*****

As that bitter memory faded, Pulaski’s words resounded inside Elizabeth’s skull like a bell:  _People can resist hypnosis, no problem.  It ain’t magic.  Its just trickery._

Suddenly Kallan’s voice seemed hollow, unconvincing.

Although the drug was working on Elizabeth in full strength, a light went on inside her mind.  **_I can resist!_** she thought, and immediately she knew the power of those words.

So she resisted.  Her body relaxed and her mind drifted.  Yet Kallan was helpless to sway her.

*****

After twenty-five minutes, Kallan sounded exasperated.  He set down the crystal and then snapped his fingers before Elizabeth’s eyes.

“Sleep!” he bellowed at her.

Despite the drug’s effects, Elizabeth managed a wry sneer.

“You were the Kaiser’s best?” she rasped.  “Heh.  You’re terrible at this.”

The German stared at her, his face a mask of disbelief and anger.  “How did you…” was all the man could say.

Elizabeth ignored him.  She flexed her fingers.  The tranquilizing drug was starting to wear off.

Kallan folded his arms, thinking furiously.

“If you won’t serve me, Elizabeth,” he said, thinking aloud, “you cannot be allowed to live.”

The brown-haired bounty hunter locked eyes with her captor.  “You may have been in the war, Kallan,” she said, her voice brittle yet laced with iron.  “But you’re no killer.”

The albino glowered.  “You’re right,” he said, rising to his feet.  “But Amelia is a bounty hunter, yah?  She could pull a trigger.”

Elizabeth’s grin melted.

The naked Amelia was summoned to stand before her master.  With one wave of his hand, she was put back into a trance.

“When I next command it, _Liebling_ , you will open your eyes,” Kallan programmed her.  “But your mind will remain perfectly blank, yah?  You will obey all my commands **_instantly_** , with no question.  Awake!”

Amelia’s eyes opened.  She gazed straight ahead, her expression blank.

“Here, _Liebchen_ , take this,” Kallan said smoothly, and pressed Elizabeth’s revolver into the nude girl’s open hand.  Amelia accept the gun without reaction.

Kallan leaned into Amelia’s ear.  “Elizabeth is your enemy!” he hissed.  “Shoot her!  Now!”

Amelia raised the weapon.  Elizabeth tensed.  That gun was fully loaded.  The barrel swung to point directly at Elizabeth’s temple.

The two bounty hunters stared at one another.  There was not a flicker of recognition nor concern in Amelia’s blank face.  Elizabeth felt her stomach twist.

And yet, Amelia’s trigger finger did not budge.

“ ** _Shoot_** her!” commanded Kallan.

Crease lines appeared on Amelia’s forehead.  But still she didn’t fire.

Elizabeth smiled grimly.  “It seems,” she croaked, “your power over her isn’t absolute.”

Kallan rose, taking the revolver from his hypnotic subject.  “Sleep and forget, _Liebchen_ ,” he told her with disappointment.  Immediately, Amelia’s arm went limp and her eyes shut.  She was back into a powerful trance.

Elizabeth laughed, a dry and faint chuckle.  It was risky to provoke the German, but she was playing a hunch.  If she could just remain near Amelia for a while longer, perhaps she could snap the blonde teenager out of Kallan’s spell.  It was her only hope.

His jaw determined, Kallan set down the gun and then rummaged through Elizabeth’s purse.  “Let us try something that Amelia is comfortable doing, yah?” he asked.

The albino German removed the small knife tainted with tarantula venom.  “And now, _Liebchen_ ,” he said softly but firmly to Amelia, “when I snap my fingers, you must awaken and use this knife on your partner.  You will not resist, yah?”  He held the knife in an open palm, before the entranced Amelia.

With horror, Elizabeth realized what was about to happen.  She’d been chloroformed, then injected with Kallan’s relaxing drug.  With those medicines still in her weakened body, it was quite likely the spider poison would kill her.  Slowly.

Kallan snapped his fingers, once.  Immediately, Amelia woke, her face still expressionless.

“Amelia,” Elizabeth said quickly, her voice barely a cracked whisper now.  “Listen to me!  You’re under-“

The younger bounty hunter calmly took the blade from Kallan’s hand.  Without so much as blinking, she stepped forward and shoved the blade into the soft skin just above Elizabeth’s breast.

The pain was **_excruciating!_**   Elizabeth gasped as a searing fire bit into her flesh, doubling in pain with every heartbeat.  Worse, she could feel a horrible red burning spread across her chest.  Her muscles started to lock up, twitching and kicking under her skin.  As the pain consumed her, she struggled to breathe.

Her throat was closing up.  In panic, Elizabeth gasped desperately, wanted to scream as her body betrayed her and descended into agony.  She felt as if she was drowning in acid.

As her lungs constricted, Elizabeth glanced up.  The last thing she saw was Amelia, holding the bloodied knife, calmly watching her expire.

*****


	5. Elizabeth

Elizabeth’s mind reeled, spinning into a dim, hellish sleep.  Tortured visions rose from her subconscious like phantoms, confusing and frightening her even more.

Eventually, the madness calmed.  Elizabeth found herself within another memory…

*****

_Now Elizabeth was nearly eighteen.  It was the late evening.  She was in Mr. Travers’ wagon, lying on his bed, and in the nude.  Pulaski had once again hypnotized her, and this time convinced her that she was a model, posing for a painting.  As Pulaski and Travers sat across the tiny compartment, gazing at her body in wonder, she arched her back, inviting the two gentlemen to admire the view._

_Sitting opposite were Mr. Travers himself and Hank Pulaski, both half-out of their performing clothes.  The middle-aged men were slouched in their little chairs, sharing another bottle of barley whiskey.  Travers’ moustache was drooping.  Each man eyed Elizabeth with lazy desire._

_“I want her,” Travers announced, rising and unbuttoning his fly._

_Pulaski shrugged, taking another swig of whiskey._

**The back door of the wagon suddenly banged open!** _The two performers and the teenage girl all jumped._

_There, glaring through the tiny doorway, was the biggest man Elizabeth had ever seen.  Seven feet tall, dressed in a heavy black street coat and wearing a wide-brimmed black Gambler’s hat, the stranger glared into the little wagon with eyes blazing.  In his fists were a small shotgun and a long cord of rope.  A long, red scar raced down his leathery face._

_In a flash, the man stomped into the wagon, swinging his gun like a club.  The butt of the weapon fell on Travers’ jaw, and the carnival announcer crumpled.  He was unconscious before hitting the floor._

_Pulaski squirmed in his seat, dropping his bottle.  “Jesus Christ!” the mesmerist babbled, wetting himself._

_The man in black scowled, pointing a finger at Pulaski.  “Shut up,” he rumbled.  “There ain’t no price on your head.  So I ain’t here for you.”_

_Pulaski nodded desperately._

_Elizabeth watched in amazement as the dark stranger knelt over Travers, binding up his wrists and then arms.  He worked with speed and skill.  Never once did he throw a glance in her direction._

_In the instant that Travers had fallen, something had clicked in the young girl’s head.  Suddenly she was out of hypnosis, thinking clearly and in fully command of herself.  Astonished, she looked about, then down at her naked body._

_“Wake up,” the Man in Black snarled at Travers, and slapped him across the face several times.  “Wake up!”_

_The carnival ringmaster cried out and tried to scramble to his feet.  But the Man in Black put his shotgun muzzle against his prisoner’s temple._

_“I’d advise being quiet,” the big man suggested._

_Travers quickly nodded._

_“You were too daring at cards, mate,” the Man in Black said, helping Travers to his shaky feet.  “Now you ‘n me are gonna take a trip to see your lenders.  No funny business, hear me?”_

_As Travers was being led out, Elizabeth suddenly found her voice.  “You… You’re a bounty hunter!” she blurted out._

_The Man in Black whirled about, raising his gun._

_Elizabeth threw up her hands.  “Wait!” she screamed._

_The big man froze, then let out a slow breath.  “Mother almighty!” he exclaimed.  “You nearly got shot, girl.”_

_He cast a withering eye over Elizabeth’s nudity, then cast a disgusted look at the still-cowering Pulaski.  “Here,” he said gruffly, and pulled off his black coat.  “Take this.”_

_And he tossed it to the awestruck teenager._

_Elizabeth wriggled into the enormous garment.  “Mister,” she implored.  “Take me with you!  I can help you!”_

_The Man in Black snorted.  “You?  Bounty huntin’ is hard work, girl.  You’d fold in a day.”_

_“I’m tough,” insisted Elizabeth.  Now freed from her lecherous masters, she felt determined and invincible._

_“Uh-huh,” said the Man._

_Elizabeth jutted out her chin.  Without hesitation, she spun on her heels and rounded on the trembling Pulaski.  The mesmerist shrank back at the fury in her eyes._

_With one swift movement, Elizabeth planted her forward foot and then slugged Pulaski, square in the jaw.  The punch landed with a solid_ **crack!** _Instantly, the showman was thrown off his chair and flopped limply onto the wagon floor._

_“See, mister?” Elizabeth insisted, turning to face down the Man in Black.  “I’m tougher than I look.”_

_“I see that,” the towering bounty hunter said, amusedly rubbing his jaw._

_Elizabeth nodded.  “Take me with you.”_

_The Man in Black cocked his head to the side, then spat a wad of chewing tobacco into the dirty floor.  His eyes twinkled as he regarded the determined young woman standing before him._

_“The name’s Jacob,” he said.  “Jacob Harcourt.  But the scum knows me as the Black Tarantula.”_

_Elizabeth stood taller, her eyes shining._

_The Tarantula glared down at her.  “You follow my orders to the letter,_ **to the letter** _, get me?”  He extended a meaty hand.  “And you ‘n me, we’ll get along just fine.”_

*****

And then even Elizabeth’s hazy memories faded.  For a long time, she knew only blackness.

*****

Ages later, Elizabeth was aware of only pain:  Pain in all corners of her body.  Pain that gnawed on her like a starving creature.  Pain ripping at every fiber of her being.

Slowly, her mind became aware of things.

She was cold.

She was lying on something extremely hard.

Her throat was bone-dry.

She could feel her arms and legs, but not her hands, nor her feet.

There was the faint sound of water dripping, far, far away.

Occasionally, she heard footfalls and men quietly speaking in Spanish.

After perhaps an hour, Elizabeth’s muscles seemed to return to her control.  Trying to ignore the pain, she pried open her eyes.

She was on her side, lying on a stone floor.  The light was extremely dim, yet Elizabeth could make out clumps of dirt and straw littered about.  A brick wall rose up before her.

Her head throbbed.  The bounty hunter pushed against the floor, fighting to sit up.  The struggle did not go well.  She rested.

But her strength was slowly returning.  After some failed attempts, Elizabeth was finally able to roll onto her back, then force herself to sit up against the wall.  She peered about, fearful and confused.

She was in a jail cell.  Small, cold, with grime and filth scattered about, the dark little room was three brick walls and iron bars looking out into a larger chamber.  Her dress was rumbled and tattered about the hem, and her hands looked pale and were shaking badly.

“ _Ah, the lady of the Gran Hotel is awake,_ ” a man’s sneering voice declared, in Spanish.

A Mexican policeman, fat with beady eyes, appeared on the other side of the bars.  He glowered down at the young woman.

“ _Where am I?_ ” Elizabeth demanded, her voice scratchy and barely audible.

“ _Heh,_ ” grunted the policeman, then sauntered off.

*****

After a time, the cop returned, bringing a dented pitcher of water and stale bread.  The water was brown and there were bits of dirt bobbing on the surface.  But Elizabeth seized the jug and drank deeply.  She wolfed down the bread, although it challenged the strength of her teeth.

On the other side of the bars, the fat policeman watched her with folded arms.

“ _You lived,_ ” he said, sounding disappointed.

Elizabeth coughed.  Her body still ached.  Her head was spinning.  Gritting her teeth, she forced herself to stand.  Her arms and legs were still trembling… but if she gripped the bars, she could appear stronger than she felt.

The policeman snorted, a disgusted sneer on his face.  Elizabeth seized him up.

He was a mere guard, not a proper police officer.  He lacked training and any real responsibility.  He also did not carry a weapon.

Elizabeth bit her lip, thinking quickly.  It was unlikely this fat fellow would know anything about Kallan or Amelia… but she had to risk a few questions.

“ _How dare you arrest me?_ ” she accused in Spanish, curious how the man would react.

 “ _Heh,_ ” replied the cop.  “ _They told me about you._   _You’re that high-priced whore who’s been working the Gran Hotel.  You’re in no position to threaten._ ”  The guard stopped directly before Elizabeth, and leaned his elbows against the bars, so he could taunt Elizabeth in her face.  “ _They still hang filthy sluts like you, you know._ ”

So that was it.  Unable to bring himself to kill Elizabeth, Kallan had arranged for her to be arrested as a common prostitute.  In Mexico City, that was a death sentence, for sure.

Elizabeth forced her head high.  “ _I don’t know what you’re talking about,_ ” she said haughtily.

“ _Sure,_ ” the fat guard sneered, now just two feet from the young woman.  “ _I’m sure you’re as pure as the snow._ ”

“ _You’ll never know,_ ” Elizabeth told him.

And then, with a speed and strength she didn’t know she had, the young woman’s hand shot out between the bars, grabbed the man’s collar, and yanked him towards her, right off his feet!

The fellow’s head collided directly with the black iron, making a bell-like **_clang!_** sound.  He teetered on his feet, his mouth open and his eyes crossing.

Then the fat guard’s knees buckled, and he collapsed to the floor, out cold.

Working quickly, Elizabeth knelt, reaching for the cell keys attached to the man’s belt.

*****

Within five minutes, the beautiful young bounty hunter had hopped out of her cell, explored the police station a little, and then located the officers’ lockers.  She snatched a long coat and a hat.  Perfect!

From there, it was child’s play to slip out the back entrance.  Soon, she’d blended into the crowds and then slipped onto a side street.  By the time the police realized she’d escaped, she was a mile away.

*****

It was a little after noon.  Elizabeth shivered within her new coat.  Her body still ached, but the brisk walking was doing her much good.  She needed more food, and hopefully a change of clothes.  And a bath.

Beyond the basic needs, there were larger problems.  Kallan was now determined to murder Jacob Harcourt, and the old contract man had no idea an assassin was coming.  Elizabeth gritted her teeth.  She couldn’t allow that to happen.

And then… there was Amelia.

No doubt, after the blonde girl’s failure to shoot Elizabeth, Kallan had re-hypnotized Amelia, seeking to impose even more control over her mind.  After a few more mesmerism sessions, Amelia would lose what little will she had left.  She would become a mindless puppet, unable to break free from her cruel master’s hold.

Elizabeth scowled.  Perhaps this was what Amelia deserved.  The blonde girl had wanted to break up the Black Tarantula, hadn’t she?  And she knew the dangers of bounty hunting.  And what was it to Elizabeth if Amelia was captured and brainwashed?  How was that any different if the teenager had, say, gotten herself shot?

And what if the roles were reversed?  What if Elizabeth was Kallan’s captive and Amelia was free?  Would the blonde teen risk everything to save her older partner?  Elizabeth wasn’t sure.

The brunette woman turned a street corner, then paused.  A wave of dizziness swept over her.  She moved off to the side, to lean against the wall of a little hat shop.  The January wind pushed against her, and for a moment, seeping inside her billowing coat.  She shivered.

Ages ago, Elizabeth had been a frightened teenager, chained to a smelly bed, trembling in the cold night air.  That Elizabeth dreaded the morning, knowing that her cruel master would put her into a trance, and then not even her thoughts were her own.  **_That_** Elizabeth was desperate and pitiful.

The beautiful bounty hunter bit her lip.  She couldn’t abandon Amelia.  Regardless of their quarrels, the girl didn’t deserve to be enslaved to an evil man like Kallan.  No, regardless of the cost…

Elizabeth let out a long breath.

…she had to rescue Amelia.

*****

Moving carefully, Elizabeth stole back to the _Gran Hotel_ , sneaking in through the servant’s entrance.  While it pained her to do it, she bopped a housemaid on the head, then hauled the unconscious woman into a storage closet.  The maid’s uniform was a little large on Elizabeth’s slender frame, but it would do.

Making sure to slouch her shoulders, look downwards, and never make eye contact with anyone, the disguised Elizabeth made her way down to the kitchens.  There, she swiped another loaf of bread, two bananas, and a long carving knife.  The food was devoured in less than a minute.

Then, the bounty hunter rode the maids’ lift up to the executive floors.  The door to Kallan’s suite was unlocked using her stolen master key.  Elizabeth gritted her teeth.  Gripping the knife handle firmly and ready for battle, she stole into the lavish chamber.

But the suite was unoccupied.  Kallan and his expansive collection of things had vanished.

 _Damn it all!_ Elizabeth thought, both angry and worried.

She chewed on her lip, ruminating over her options.

After reporting Elizabeth as a prostitute, Kallan had quickly fled, that much was certain.  Most likely he feared the attention of the police… which was an instinct Elizabeth could appreciate.  Now, Kallan and Amelia could be on a train.  They could be anywhere in Mexico by now.

No, Kallan was determined to see Harcourt dead.  And while Amelia didn’t know how to contact the Old Man directly, it was likely the German could still figure out how to use his hypnotized slave to lure Harcourt out into the open.  So – assuming Harcourt was still alive – it was most most likely that Kallan was still in Mexico City.  And with all those moving trunks and crates and delicate possessions, he would need another suite.

Another hotel, Elizabeth realized.  Kallan had simply moved to another hotel.

Her tracker’s skills kicking in, the young woman carefully searched the apartment.  Clues leapt out to her keen senses.

The carpet was trampled with workmen’s boots.  So Kallan had hired several laborers to pack up his things and haul them away.  A moving company.  There was a strange ash scattered about the main doorway, smelling faintly of burnt cinnamon.  That hadn’t been there before; this meant one of the workmen smoked a deluxe cigarette.  Probably the foreman.  And there were two crumbled receipts from the _Gran Hotel_ main desk under the bedroom dresser; that proved that the movers, whoever they were, had filed paperwork with the hotel before hauling Kallan’s possessions out the door.

Hmm.  Elizabeth’s mind began making plans.

*****

As the disguised bounty hunter slipped back out into the main corridor, the doors to the suite across the way opened.  A fifty-something man in a party tuxedo emerged, laughing and brandishing a smelly cigar.  On his arm, was a young woman of perhaps twenty, dressed in a red evening gown that showed off her arms and lower legs.  The woman smiled at her partner, but there was no love in her eyes.

The millionaire and his young mistress carried coats; they were leaving the hotel.  Probably for the evening.

So Elizabeth waited as couple descended on the gilded lift.  Then she used her servant keys to steal into their apartment.

It only took ten minutes for her to bathe.  (Thank God the Gran Hotel suites had private showers!)  then Elizabeth selected a modest but fashionable dress from the mistress’ wardrobe, added a little make-up, and pinned up her hair.  Considering her haste, she looked good.

As the transformed bounty hunter was about to depart, she spotted the gentleman’s cash wallet, lying on his bedside table.  There was at least four hundred pesos inside.

*****

In no time at all, Elizabeth was standing before the _Gran Hotel_ main desk, batting her eyes at the _concierge_.  “Oh, I **_do_** hope you can help me,” she implored, playing the scatterbrained sexpot as much as she dared.

“What do you need, ma’am?” the _concierge_ asked hopefully.  He was an older gentleman, unaccustomed to pretty young ladies flirting with him.  He was no match when plied with Elizabeth’s charms.

The young woman beamed, resting one grateful hand on the man’s forearm.  “Oh dear,” she sighed.  “I’m Mrs. Kallan, my husband and I were staying in Suite 11C?  My silly husband, he…”  She shook her head sadly.  “…he’s gone and moved all my clothes and things, and I haven’t a **_thing_** to wear for the governor’s siesta tonight.”

Of course, there was no siesta.  But the spellbound _concierge_ was helpless in Elizabeth’s charms.

“I don’t suppose… you can tell me the name of the moving company he picked?” the bounty hunter murmured, leaning closer.

*****

Kallan had not searched far for workmen.  Elizabeth was pointed to the _Trabajo Rapido_ Movers, a mere two blocks from the _Gran Hotel_.  When she entered the company’s drab little office, a squat fellow behind the desk looked up from his newspaper in surprise.

“ _Can I help you?_ ” he asked suspiciously, in Spanish.  At the same time, he stabbed out his black cigarette.

Elizabeth’s nostrils flared.  The cigarette smelled of burnt cinnamon.

“ _I’m hoping for a little information,_ ” she said causally, reaching into the millionaire’s wallet.  She removed a hundred-peso mark, displayed it, and then set it down onto the desk.

*****

Quite some distance away, Amelia was smiling.

She was naked, snuggling up against a nude man.  They both sat on a couch, their arms wrapped around one another’s bodies.  Amelia leaned forward, crossing one of her legs over both of his and stretching her neck so she could kiss this man.  As their lips touched, she felt his grateful hands on her breasts.  It felt wonderful.

Funny, Amelia couldn’t remember how they’d met… or what this man’s name was… or even where she was.  Everything right now seemed upside-down, put in a funny sort of way.  But the blonde teenager didn’t care.

As the kiss deepened, she moaned with satisfaction as the man fondled her.  His thumbs tweaked her nipples, and shivers of erotic pleasure rippled through her entire body.  She was getting wet.

The man slid one hand around her torso and then down her back, extending far enough to reach her buttocks.  Amelia leaned even closer to him, in the hopes that he would grab her, firmly.  She could feel his erect cock poking at her smooth stomach.

The man broke the kiss, and Amelia’s lips wandered down his jaw, then his neck as he arched he head towards the ceiling.  She was losing control to the passion.

“Ahhh…!” the man said in a half-laugh.  “Ah, my slave, you excite me.”

“Yes master,” Amelia murmured, then continued nibbling his collarbone.

 _Master?_   Had she called him _master?_   Everything seemed so hazy, so-dreamlike.  The blonde girl wasn’t sure.  But she liked this feeling of… erotic submission.

Perhaps this white-haired man **_was_** her master.  The thought made her even more aroused.

Amelia pushed the man back against the couch, then rose up to straddle his lap.  His stiff penis was sandwiched between their two stomachs, and she could feel its warm, sticky dribble.  She wrapped both arms around his neck and pressed in, determined to kiss him on the lips once more.

“Wait, wait,” the man smiled.

Amelia pressed harder, seeking his mouth.

“ ** _Wait,_** ” commanded the man, and now he did not sound amused.

Reluctantly, Amelia sat back.  Her desire to make love was getting stronger; how much longer would she have to wait?

“We must talk first,” the man said coyly.  “Tell me more about this… Jacob Harcourt.”

Amelia opened her mouth, but no words came to her lips.  It was as if her memory was frozen.

“When I touch your forehead,” the man told her, “you can remember all that I want to know.  But it will mean nothing to you.”

As two of his fingertips tapped just above Amelia’s eyebrows, the girl suddenly found herself speaking.

“I don’t really know him,” she heard her own voice saying.  “Elizabeth and Jacob go way back.  I let her contact him.”

The words spilled freely from her lips; Amelia had no control over what she was saying.  In the back of her mind, she somehow knew that this was wrong… and yet, was powerless to stop herself.

“I see,” the man frowned.  His hands floated back to Amelia’s breasts, and he resumed playing with her nipples.  “But you could find him.  **_If you wanted to._** ”

The words were pointed, demanding.  Amelia felt herself hesitating.

“Answer me,” commanded the white-haired man.

“I…” the girl said, confused.

“Sleep!” said the man, passing one hand over Amelia’s eyes.

Suddenly the blonde slave found herself floating is calm, soothing darkness.  It was as if her body simply evaporated, and she was basked in nothing but warm, loving relaxation.  She sighed in pleasure, loving this magic that was cast over her.

“ ** _When you next awaken,_** ” the man’s voice said from the center of her mind, “ ** _you can no longer resist my demands to find Harcourt.  In fact, every part of you will long to tell me what I know, yah._** ”

 _Mmmm,_ thought Amelia.  She smiled passively as the commands sank deep into her mind.  The feeling of obedience coursing through her made her even more aroused.

The man spoke some more, then snapped his fingers.  Amelia blinked, finding herself awake, and still straddling the man’s lap.

“Now,” he smiled, “tell me.  How do I find Harcourt?”

Amelia’s mind went blank.  “There is a warehouse,” she said automatically.  “In _Tepotzotlán_.  He meets with Elizabeth there.  She will have sent word to him when we captured you, master.”

“Ah,” grinned the man.  “You have done well, slave.  When we meet him, you will kill him.”

“Yes, master,” Amelia responded.

She would kill Harcourt.

The man pulled her towards him.  He was becoming more erect.  With delight, Amelia kissed him.

She was wet, so wet.  This strange absent-mindedness that possessed her… whatever this man did to her made her submissive and horny.  Oh, so horny.

She rose up on her knees, guided his tip into her vagina, and slowly lowered down.  Both she and her master groaned in ecstasy.  And then they were fucking.

*****

Kallan had relocated across town to the _Hotel Geneve_ , a less grand but still swanky palace.  Elizabeth stood across the street, studying the ornate exterior and chewing her thumbnail.

Amelia and Kallan were inside, of that she was certain.  If Kallan had accessed Amelia’s knowledge, he’d know that Harcourt wouldn’t meet until sundown.  So the mesmerist and his victim would stay holed up in their new suite until the time came.

But what to do?  Elizabeth knew the suite number.  She could storm inside with her recently-purchased black market pistol and hope to incapacitate Kallan quickly.  Or she could wait until the wicked man left in the evening.  It might be easier to jump him outside, where he could not prepare for an ambush.

The brunette fretted.  There was no obvious way forward.  She didn’t know what to do.

*****

Kallan and Amelia lay naked on the bed, the sheets rumpled beneath them.  The blonde teenager lay on her back, her eyes closed, deep in a trance.  Kallan was on his side, next to her.  As the mesmerist poured vile instructions into Amelia’s sleeping mind, his hand absently played with her breasts.  She could not resist him.

There was a soft click from the front door.  Surprised, Kallan looked up.

Then the doorway banged open.  Into through the foyer burst Elizabeth, her black pistol shining in her hand.  She threw the door shut, then was at the foot of the bed, pointing the weapon squarely between the German’s surprised eyes.

“Remember me?” the brunette growled.

Kallan shrank back, feebly raising his hands.  “You…” was all he could manage.

Elizabeth glared, furious at what she saw before her.  Amelia was still motionless, her face without any expression.

Moving slowly, the German tried to rise from the bed.

“Don’t you move,” hissed Elizabeth.

“But…” mumbled Kallan, “…I can’t even put on pants, _nein_?”

“You stay put,” the bounty hunter insister.  She nodded at the sleeping Amelia.  “Now wake her.”

Regretfully, Kallan looked down at his hypnotized victim.

“ ** _Wake_** her,” repeated Elizabeth, an edge in her voice.

The albino man murmured, “When I snap my fingers, _Liebling_ , you will awaken, fully alert.”  He clicked his fingers over Amelia’s head.

To Elizabeth’s relief, the eyes of her junior partner opened quickly.  Amelia looked about, puzzled.  Her expression melted to relief when she saw Elizabeth.

“Hey,” Amelia said, gratefully, as she scrambled off the bed.

“You alright?” Elizabeth asked, her blazing eyes never leaving Kallan’s slack face.

“I’m…”  Amelia considered the question.  She stood beside the bed, looking down at herself in amazement.  “I’m okay.  But… where are my clothes?”

Trying to keep a sharp eye on the nude Kallan, Elizabeth took a valuable moment to inspect Amelia.  The teenager was out of hypnosis.  She seemed like her old self.  But many of Kallan’s commands were no doubt still planted within her mind.  Could she be trusted?

Kallan, realizing Elizabeth’s attention was distracted, began inching off the bed.

“ ** _Don’t you move!_** ” roared Elizabeth.  “You’ll be lucky if I don’t shoot you now.  You hear me?”

The German pressed his lips together, his expression unreadable.  Then, in the blink of an eye, he cried out, “ _Hol sie!_ ”

And just as quickly, Amelia snatched a second revolver from the bedside table.  Instantly, the gun was pointed at Elizabeth’s head.

The brunette risked a glance at her younger partner.  Over the barrel of the gun, Amelia glared at her.  Amelia’s face was hard, her eyes narrowed.

“I have her, master,” the blonde girl said to Kallan.

The German grinned wide, relaxing.  “You see, _Fräulein?_ ” he gloated.  “Checkmate, yah?”

Elizabeth let out a breath of exasperation and despair.  Amelia had never been freed of the hypnosis.  She’d pretended to be free, and Elizabeth had walked right into the trap.

A classic Diversion Pincher.


	6. Amelia

Kallan stood, reaching for his trousers, as if there was nothing unusual about any of this.  “Take her gun, yah?” he ordered Amelia.

The hypnotized teenager reached forward, but Elizabeth cocked the hammer of her revolver.  The bullet in the chamber clicked into place.  Kallan froze.

“Amelia won’t kill me,” Elizabeth asserted, using a confidence she didn’t feel.

Amelia took a step towards Elizabeth.  The gun pointed at Elizabeth’s head did not waver.

The older bounty hunter frowned, her mind racing.

An idea formed in Elizabeth’s thoughts.  A desperate idea, to be sure.  But it was the only course of action she could see where someone didn’t get shot.

Elizabeth took a deep breath, preparing for her gambit.

“Listen,” she said tersely to Kallan.  “I’ll make you a deal.  You paying attention?”

“What deal?” asked the albino, suspicious.

“I’ll put down this gun,” Elizabeth offered.  “Further, I’ll let you… take me.  **_If_** “ – and here she thrust the revolver forward, just a little – “ ** _if_** you agree to let Amelia go.  **_Completely_** release her.  Get me?”

Kallan’s jaw shifted as he studied Elizabeth’s face.

“I’m offering to trade myself for her,” the brown-haired woman said plainly.  “I’ll become your… your servant.  But only if you **_let Amelia go_**.”

The German folded his arms.  “You’re bluffing.  Amelia told me, you were about to disband from her, yah?  You no longer wanted to be her partner.  You hate her.”

“I don’t want to see her enslaved like this,” Elizabeth shot back.  “Its my fault that you tricked her into hypnotism.  I don’t want that on my conscience.”

“You are offering to let me mesmerize you, yah?” Kallan asked directly.

Elizabeth swallowed.  “Yeah,” she said tersely.  “ ** _If you let Amelia go._** ”

This was a **_terrible_** plan, she knew.  Kallan was a master.  But having been hypnotized many times before, Elizabeth was hoping she could fake a convincing trance.  All she had to do was resist, pretend to be under the German’s spell, and wait for him to release Amelia.  Or let his guard down.  Either way, she’d surprise him when he least expected it, and then… well, she’d figure out the rest at that point.

And besides… there was another possibility, even if it was the slimmest of hopes.  If Kallan had hypnotized Amelia with lies…  Well, there was no way to know.  Elizabeth forced that desperate thought from her head.

Kallan’s face was unreadable.  “If I were to agree to your terms,” he said slowly, “I’d release Amelia **_only_** after you were hypnotized, _mädchen_.  Not before.”

The ends of Elizabeth’s mouth turned down.  “You have to swear to me that you’ll completely release her.  **_Swear it._**   Or no deal.”  She tilted her head forward.  “I’ll know if you’re lying to me.”

Kallan was silent.

“Or,” Elizabeth said, “we can let the bullets fly.  And see who winds up dead.”

The German glanced back and forth between the two women, weighing his options.  Elizabeth could see the wheels turning frantically in his head.

“…very well, _Schatz,_ ” the mesmerist finally said.

“You swear it?” demanded Elizabeth.  “You’ll dehypnotize and release Amelia completely?”

“Yah, yah,” Kallan said drolly.

“Swear it!”

Kallan looked bitter.  “I swear it, yah.”

Elizabeth shook her head.  “I don’t believe you,” she accused.

At this, Kallan rose to his feet.  His face became a grave mask of seriousness.

“Upon my mother’s grave,” he said solemnly, “I swear to you that once you are… fully relaxed… I will completely release Amelia.”  With a grin, he added, “No tricks.”

Elizabeth didn’t know whether to feel relief or despair.  Trying to ignore the alarm bells in her mind, she lowered her gun and surrendered it to Amelia.

*****

Elizabeth sat in the chair, feet together, hands folded in her lap.  Behind her, Amelia (still naked) held both pistols, ready to fire at any moment.  Kallan pulled on his trousers and a loose-fitting shirt.  Now he stood directly before his brown-haired subject.

“Eyes on me, _Fräulein_ ,” he instructed coolly.

Meeting his gaze, Elizabeth pressed her lips together.  She hadn’t thought about getting hypnotized in years.  Not since she became a member of the Black Tarantula, certainly.  _I won’t go to sleep,_ she told herself firmly.  _I won’t!_

“Excellent, _mein Liebling_.”

“Don’t call me that,” Elizabeth snapped.

“Silence from here on out,” said Kallan, leaning forward slightly.  “You must concentrate, yah?  Concentrate on me.  Just on me.”

He made a slight smile.  “You hate me, don’t you, _Liebchen?_ ” he asked smugly.  “I’m sure you do.  Fine.  But if you want to save your friend, you must put that hate aside and relax, yah?  Relax.  Relax.  Relax.”

Elizabeth was careful to keep her expression neutral.

“Your will is strong,” Kallan said softly, leaning in even closer.  “That is your hope, yah?”  His ice-blue eyes bore into Elizabeth’s.  “But I’ve realized something about you, _Fräulein._   You have been hypnotized before.  Yah, you have.  Many, many times before.  I missed it earlier, yah, but now…  Now, I see it so clearly.”

The mesmerist’s voice became silky and continuous, like a gentle brook.  “Your subconscious mind responds to subliminal words, Elizabeth.  Your fingertips twitch when I happen to say ‘ _sleep._ ’  Or ‘ _obey._ ’  Or ‘ _surrender._ ’  Your eyes, they unfocus just a little when I say the word ‘ _trance._ ’  Yah.  Once you were hypnotized by a master, and he used ‘ _trance_ ’ as your trigger word, didn’t he?”

The confidence Elizabeth once felt turned to horror.  Pure horror.  How had Kallan read her so well?

“You will find, _Liebchen_ ,” the German murmured, “that soon you will want to _sleep_ , to _surrender_ and _obey_.  To return to the _trance_.  You will enter _trance_.  Even now, against your will, your hands are relaxing, entering _trance_.  Your feet are relaxing, _surrendering_ into _sleep_.  Yah.  Your face is _relaxing_.  Soon you will _obey_ … _obey_ …  Relax and enter _trance_ …”

 _I have to fight this,_ Elizabeth warned herself… but, with dread, she already knew it was too late.  Her hands were relaxing.  Her legs were detaching from her will and letting go.  The old, familiar feeling of sleepiness was descending over her.

Kallan’s words were flowing steadily now.  The skillful German had identified most of the keywords Hank Pulaski had once used to subdue Elizabeth, and now he used them with abandon.  These siren-like words washed over the brown-haired bounty hunter, and to her dismay, she felt her mind beginning to be drawn into the current.  Relaxation was seeping into every fiber of her being.

Elizabeth’s eyelids felt so very, very heavy.  Her body had relaxed beyond her will.  _I… have to…_ she said within her head, but the thought trailed off.  Kallan seemed so dominating, so convincing.

Suddenly, Elizabeth was fifteen again, standing before Pulaski, feeling herself surrender to her old master.  Kallan’s voice became Pulaski’s voice; his face became Pulaski’s face.  Elizabeth’s resistance crumbled and her own thoughts faded as Kallan took control of her mind.

“And now, Elizabeth,” the hypnotist intoned, “you will… **_SLEEP._** ”

The bounty hunter’s eyes shut.  Her face sagged.  She dropped into the deep and mindless dream of obedience.

*****

…time passed…

And then, Elizabeth found herself opening her eyes.

Kallan was stooping before her, snapping his fingers.  “You are awake, yah?” he asked.

The young woman blinked several times, her thoughts scattered.  Where was she?

“How do you feel?” said Kallan.

Elizabeth looked about, confused.  Amelia was there, not wearing anything, but holding two revolvers.  The blonde girl was watching her closely.

“I feel…” Elizabeth said slowly, “…good.  Relaxed.”

She frowned.  Why couldn’t she remember what was going on?

Kallan straightened, a smile of triumph on his face.

Elizabeth looked up at Amelia.  Something in the back of the brown-haired woman’s mind nagged at her.  Amelia was supposed to… supposed to do… something.  **_Something._**   To leave?  To escape?  Elizabeth couldn’t remember what.

“And now, _Liebchen_ ,” drawled Kallan, “isn’t there something you have to do?”

Elizabeth stared up at him.  Her thoughts blanked out.  A strange desire possessed her.

“Yes master,” she said eagerly.

And with that, the brown-haired woman stood, already unbuttoning her dress.  Kallan watched in deep satisfaction as Elizabeth shed every item of clothing she had, one-by-one.  She never once registered a flicker of hesitation or resentment.

“Mmm…!” the albino rumbled, and moved forward to cup Elizabeth’s breasts.  She watched him passively.

“When I kiss you,” Kallan told her, wearing a lazy smile, “you will suddenly feel nothing but lust for me, yah?  All you will want is to be my eager whore.  Do you understand?”

“Yes master,” Elizabeth assured him.

Kallan wasted no time, and immediately pressed his lips against hers.  His greedy hands swarmed around her chest, down her back, and reached for her exposed buttocks.

Elizabeth felt a rush of pleasure.  She moaned softly, giving in to the lust that was springing into her mind.  With Kallan’s warm body pressed against her, she grew aroused.  She kissed him back, harder.

And the two continued, their lips dancing with one another, their tongues embracing.  Kallan’s hands slithered over Elizabeth’s bare skin, rarely stopping to fondle one part of her for very long.  It was as if he couldn’t decide which part of her he liked best.  Occasionally a sigh of delight would float out of Elizabeth’s throat.

She was becoming wet.  Very, very wet.

Suddenly, without warning, Elizabeth lost all control.  She seized Kallan by the front of his trousers, and then backed up until she was against the bed.  The German followed her, enraptured by her sexual aggression.

Elizabeth fell to her knees, her fingers already unbuttoning Kallan’s fly.  His cock popped out like an obscene child’s toy as the garment dropped off his hips and then down his legs.

The brunette seized the penis, immediately popping it into her mouth.  Kallan wheezed in happiness, struggling to keep his knees from buckling.  In and out, in and out went his member.

But Elizabeth wasn’t interested in oral pleasure.  When the cock was wet and shining with her spit, she leapt onto the bed, positioning herself on all fours.  “Come in me, master,” she ordered, spreading her knees and pointing her naked bottom directly at him.  “Come in me, **_now!_** ”

Now Kallan found himself moving as if he were the one under an enchantment.  Before him, he saw Elizabeth’s vagina, listening with her wetness.  She wanted him.  She **_wanted_** him!  He fit himself behind her hips, and then slid his cock straight in.

Thanks to his mastery of hypnotism, the German had seduced many, many women.  All of them, once subjected to his powers, became willing, naked whores, eager for him to fuck them.  And he’s been inside so many vaginas.  Oh, he loved the vagina.  He loved that heat they radiated when he was inside.  He loved the wet squishiness he felt as he slid in.  He loved the moans and cries the women made as he rammed them.  He loved it all.

But Elizabeth put all the other woman to shame.  Dimly, as he was thrusting into her, again and again, Kallan wondered how this woman’s genitalia was so much more erotic than all the others.  She was hot, wet, and massaged his cock unlike anything like he’d ever felt before.  After one single thrust, he could not have stopped himself had he tried.  It was as if he was the slave.

Kallan came almost instantly.  Gripping Elizabeth by the tops of her buttocks, he arched his back and roared with pleasure.  Her soft grunts and wails of gratitude only incensed him more.

Elizabeth came, too.  Her orgasm was real, but enhanced beyond all comprehension within her hypnotized mind.  She gasped as wave after wave of pleasure crashed against her muscles, like the ocean playfully lapping rocks upon the shore.

*****

Once he had seen Elizabeth naked, the lustful Kallan forgot all about Amelia.  The blonde teenager stood off to the side as Elizabeth submitted to her new master.  She watched the two have sex with complete disinterest, as if watching fish lazily swimming about in a tank of water.

Amelia’s mind was still fogged by the spell of Kallan’s hypnotism.  Her thoughts were dreamlike, charmed under the irresistible guidance of the German’s commands.  She trusted Kallan completely, the way a small child has complete faith in the goodness of their parent.  A faint smile played at her lips.

Once Elizabeth and Kallan were finished copulating, the German flopped onto the bed, pulling a limp Elizabeth against him.  She did not fight his demand for her physical presence.

“Ah, amazing, amazing!” laughed Kallan, wrapping both arms around the nude Elizabeth.  “You are even more talented than I suspected!”  He chortled again, in sheer delight.

“Yes master,” Elizabeth replied, her eyes half-closed.  Her breasts rose as fell as she struggled to catch her breath.

Kallan smirked, gloating over his newest conquest.  “Normally, I fuck a woman once, then erase her memory, yah?” he said to no-one in particular.  “But you two…”  He threw a lustful stare at Amelia.  “You two, I think, will be my slaves for a long, long time.  Yah.  After you kill your contract man.”

Deep within Amelia’s mind, a faint memory suddenly bobbed up into her thoughts, like an echo reaching her from a great distance.  Some time, perhaps not that long ago, Kallan was saying something to her, something…  What was it?

“ ** _I wouldn’t lie to you,_** ” he had said.  And it was true.  Kallan wouldn’t lie.

Except…

 _But Kallan_ **did** _lie,_ she thought.  _He promised something important to Elizabeth.  What was it…?_

Amelia frowned slightly.  Slowly, like a bear waking from hibernation, her mind began thinking on its own.

 _Kallan promised that once Elizabeth was hypnotized,_ Amelia thought, _he’d let me go._

But what had the German just said?  _You two, I think, will be my slaves for a long, long time._

Meanwhile, Kallan was completely enamored with Elizabeth.  The naked brunette in his arms looked confused.

“Ah, even now, Elizabeth, you think you can resist me?” taunted Kallan.  He rose up on one elbow, now looming over the hypnotized woman.  “You will learn.  **_Sleep!_** ”

Unable to withstand his commands, Elizabeth instantly dropped back into a trance.

“And now,” Kallan told her, “you will awaken, and you will now longer remember who you are or where you came from, yah?  You will only know you are madly in love with me, Elizabeth.  **_Madly_** in love with me.  You want only what I desire.  Do you understand?”

“…yes master…” Elizabeth murmured, her voice small and weak.

“Heh,” the mesmerist sneered, playing with her hair.  “And now… wake!”  He snapped his fingers rapidly.

Elizabeth’s eyes fluttered open.  She looked up at Kallan, and a joyous smile spread over her face.  “…Master,” she whispered happily.

Kallan kissed her, at first slowly, then with deep tongue.

“Ah, my dear, you are mine now, yah?” he demanded.

“Oh yes, master,” Elizabeth promised.

“You will do anything I wish, yah?”

“Anything.”

“You will happily remain my slave, forever?”

“Yes, master, anything!”

“Good,” chuckled the German.  He lowered himself back onto the mattress, greedily seizing one of Elizabeth’s breasts.  “Heh.  You foolish women.  You are clever, yah, but your minds are so easily fooled.”  He yawned, stretching his legs.  “So easily fooled…”

He looked up, surprised to see a vacant-eyed Amelia standing by the bed, right at his pillow.  She smiled down at him, a passive smile on her face.

“I didn’t command you to approach,” frowned Kallan.

“No, master,” Amelia said.  Her voice was dreamlike… but her eyes were intently focused.  “I thought perhaps you should…  **_Sleep!_** ”

Kallan realized too late; **_Amelia was out of hypnosis!_**

And with that, the blonde teenager swung the butt of her revolver.  The gun came down squarely onto Kallan’s forehead.

He spasmed once, then dropped straight in unconsciousness.

*****


	7. Epilogue:  The Black Tarantula

Elizabeth, still hypnotized to be in love with the German, let out of horrified wail.  “Master!” she cried, reaching for Kallan’s head.

But Amelia was ready for her.  “No!” she shouted, climbing over the nude mesmerist and seizing Elizabeth by both arms.  “No!” she shouted again, shaking the brown-haired woman as hard as she could.  “Snap out of it!  Elizabeth, wake up!  Wake up!”

“Master!” sobbed Elizabeth, but unable to fend off this assault.

“Aw nuts,” Amelia muttered to herself.  Then, with one mighty swing, she slapped Elizabeth across the face.  **_Hard_**.

The older bounty hunter reeled, her eyes rolling about in their sockets.

“Snap out of it!” Amelia yelled, and raised her hand again.

She was about to strike when Elizabeth’s body tensed.  The brown-haired woman reached out with the speed of lightening, grabbing Amelia’s wrist.

Amelia pulled back, expecting a fist to her jaw.

But Elizabeth looked bewildered, as if coming out of a dream.  In a way, she was.

“Oh my word,” she exclaimed, blinking and looking about.

Amelia relaxed.  Elizabeth was free.  Kallan’s hypnotism was broken.

The two women stared at one another, feelings of relief flowing between them without a single word spoken.  And then, Elizabeth reached forward, drawing Amelia into a bear hug.

Amelia hugged back.

*****

Jacob Harcourt raised two surprised bushy eyebrows as Elizabeth and Amelia rode into the deserted _Tepotzotlán_ warehouse.  Both women held their heads high, fierce stares of pride and defiance radiating from their faces.

But slung over the shoulders of Elizabeth’s horse was an enormous grey bag, tied up on the end.

Harcourt glanced at his hired men, guards who were ready with their guns and the rented paddy wagon.  The henchmen stared at Elizabeth with curiosity, but said nothing.

Elizabeth rode up to Harcourt, then dismounted.

“Ladies,” the old contract man said in way of greeting.

“Thanks for meeting us,” Elizabeth said breezily.  “Sorry for the last minute notification; this one is too slippery to take any chances on.”

The bag moved a little, feebly groaning in German.

“Just a tick,” Elizabeth said, drawing her revolver.  In a lightning-fast motion, she brought the butt of the gun crashing down onto one of the bigger lumps on the end of the bag.  The sack grunted once, then was still.

“The mysterious Kallan, I presume,” Harcourt said wryly.

He gestured, and instantly, the hired men swarmed about Elizabeth’s horse.  The bag was unslung, unceremoniously tossed into the wagon, then locked up.  Harcourt barked orders in Spanish, and wagon and henchmen both departed.

Elizabeth visibly relaxed.

“Tough one?” Harcourt asked her, spitting a wad of chewing tobacco to the floor.

“Keep him under special watch,” warned Elizabeth.  She explained Kallan’s special powers, only omitting the bits where she and Amelia were seduced against their will.

“Hmmgh,” commented Harcourt, studying Elizabeth closely.  “Good to know.  Maybe that explains why the bounty was so high.”  He cocked his head to one side.  “You two want to get your money together, as usual?”

Elizabeth looked up at Amelia, whose expression was unreadable.

“Together’s good,” Amelia said coolly.  She unsheathed her Bowie knife, cleaning the dirt under her nails.  “What other jobs you got, Old Man?”

The Black Tarantula was eager to hunt again.

*****


End file.
